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MEMOIR 


OF 


ETH  W.  CHENEY, 


A  E  T  I  S  T. 


BOSTON: 
LEE  AND  SHEPARD,  PUBLISHERS. 
1881. 


University  Press  : 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


DEDICATION. 


To  those  of  his  Family  who  knew  and  loved  him,  every 
remembrance  of  him  is  precious. 

To  the  Young,  who  knew  him  not  in  life,  every  revelation 
of  his  character  will  be  welcome. 

£c  Botfj  £  USrtrfcate  tfjtss  fHcmotr, 

Sure  that  they  will  forgive  its  defects,  if  it  brings  him  nearer 
to  their  minds  and  hearts. 


E.  D.  CHENEY. 


GENEALOGY. 


Rev.  John  Woodbridge,  Stanton,  England. 

Rev.  John  Woodbridge  came  to  New  England,  1G34, 

Rev.  Benj.  Woodbridge  went  to  Connecticut. 

Rev.  Samuel  Woodbridge. 

Benjamin  Cheney.  Russell  Woodbridge. 

Timothy  Cheney.  Deodatus  Woodbridge. 

George  Cheney  married  Electa  Woodbridge. 

(   Emily  Pitkin. 
SETH  W.  CHENEY  married  \ 

(  Ednah  D.  Littleiiale. 

Margaret  Swan  Cheney. 


Full  particulars  of  the  Woodbridge  Family  may  be  found  in 
4  New  England  Historical  and  Genealogical  Register." 


I 


* 


MEMOIR 

OF 

SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


CHAPTEE  I. 
BIRTH  AND  CHILDHOOD. 

OETH  WELLS  CHENEY,  born  Nov.  26,  1810,  was  the  fifth 
son  of  George  and  Electa  Cheney. 

So  far  as  is  known,  this  family  is  English  on  both  sides,  al- 
though a  French,  Swiss,  or  Italian  origin  of  the  name  Cheney  is 
not  improbable,  as  that  name  still  exists  in  all  these  countries. 

The  Cheneys  can  be  traced  with  certainty  only  to  Benjamin 
Cheney,  who  is  recorded  as  buying  and  selling  land  in  Hartford 
as  early  as  1723. 

Timothy  Cheney,  his  son,  was  a  well-known  clockmaker,  who 
appears  as  one  of  the  founders  of  Orford  Parish,  called  before 
that  time  Five-Mile  Woods,  and  afterwards  East  Hartford. 

Burke's  Encyclopaedia  of  Heraldry  gives  a  pleasant  tradition 
of  the  origin  of  the  crest  of  Sir  John  Cheney,  —  a  bull's  head,  — 
which  was  adopted,  partly  in  joke,  by  Cheney  Brothers  as  a 
trade-mark. 

The  mother  of  Seth  W.  Cheney  was  Electa  Woodbridge ;  and 
her  descent  is  traceable  to  Bev.  John  Woodbridge,  and  also  to 
Mabel  Harlakenden,  who  came  over  from  England  and  who  is 
known  as  the  ancestress  of  many  of  the  leading  families  of 
Connecticut. 

1 


2 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


Electa  Woodbridge's  father  kept  a  tavern  in  East  Hartford, 
where  she  was  born,  and  he  afterwards  removed  to  another  tavern 
still  standing  on  Manchester  Green.  Electa's  own  mother  was  of 
nervous  temperament,  and  subject  to  fits  of  melancholy,  then 
called  the  spleen,  which  kept  her  sometimes  for  weeks  from  ful- 
filling her  duties  in  her  family.  At  such  times  the  care  of  the 
household  fell  upon  the  oldest  daughter  even  at  a  very  early 
age,  and  thus  developed  the  self-reliance  and  capacity  for  work 
which  distinguished  her.  After  the  mother's  death,  the  father 
married  her  sister,  who  was  the  "  grandmother "  affectionately 
remembered  by  Seth  and  his  brothers.  He  made  a  beautiful 
India-ink  drawing  of  her,  which  is  a  model  of  serene  old  age. 
He  loved  to  describe  the  aged  couple  coming  down  to  visit  their 
daughter,  attended  by  their  faithful  Pomp.  The  dog  always 
heralded  their  approach,  for  he  understood  the  talk  about  going 
down  to  "  Lecta's,"  and  would  start  at  once  so  as  to  arrive  before 
them. 

While  Electa  was  yet  living  at  the  tavern,  George  Wash- 
ington, then  President,  made  a  journey  to  New  England  on 
horseback,  and  passed  through  Manchester  on  his  way  to  Provi- 
dence. As  the  party  halted  at  the  little  tavern,  the  young  girl 
ran  out  to  see  them,  and  Washington  asked  her  to  bring  him  a 
glass  of  water,  —  a  service  which  she  always  remembered  with 
pleasure. 

Timothy  Cheney  built  a  pleasant  low  house,  now  known  as 
the  Cheney  Homestead,  on  the  side  of  a  hill  in  what  was  then 
called  East  Hartford  Woods,  or  Orford  Parish.  A  little  brook 
ran  before  the  house,  affording  a  good  water-power,  and  a  high 
hill  rose  beyond  it,  making  this  a  sheltered,  lovely  valley.  He 
built  a  saw-mill  on  the  brook,  and  took  his  son  Timothy  to  live 
and  work  with  him.  They  tried  the  first  experiment  in  town 
of  carrying  water  to  a  mill  by  a  long  canal.  It  was  dug  with 
wooden  shovels  plated  with  iron.    He  died  in  1795.    His  son 


BIRTH  AND  CHILDHOOD. 


3 


Timothy  returned  to  the  Centre  to  live  on  the  old  place,  while 
George  remained  at  the  Homestead. 

George  and  Electa  Cheney  were  married  Oct.  18,  1798,  and 
took  possession  of  their  home.  One  large  room,  called  some- 
times "  t'  other  room,"  opened  into  a  small  porch  by  a  door  so 
wide  that  a  hogshead  could  be  rolled  through  it  into  the  cellar 
opposite.  There  in  winter  the  family  lived,  ate,  and  cooked  by 
a  large  open  fireplace  furnished  with  crane  and  pot-hooks.  In 
the  summer  a  large  back  room  was  used  for  work.  Two  bed- 
rooms opened  out  of  the  keeping-room, —  one  occupied  by  the 
father  and  mother,  the  other  devoted  to  the  boys  as  they  grew 
large  enough  to  leave  their  mother's  side.  The  best  parlor  and 
chambers  for  guests  were  above ;  but  as  the  house  was  built  into 
a  bank,  the  parlor  opened  out-doors  by  a  ^pretty  porch. 

George  Cheney  was  a  man  of  strong,  original,  and  noble  char- 
acter, in  whose  traits  may  be  found  the  germs  of  those  qualities 
which  have  given  his  sons  success  in  life.  He  was  slight  in 
stature,  of  a  quick,  nervous  temperament ;  and  he  possessed  an 
active,  inquiring  mind,  and  very  high  moral  qualities. 

His  scrap-book  is  full  of  thoughtful  extracts  on  religious 
themes,  showing  him  to  have  been  a  liberal  Christian.  He 
was  called  a  restorationist.  He  was  "  always  preaching."  In 
his  last  illness  he  would  sit  up  in  bed  and  say,  "  Wife,  if  I 
could  only  preach,  I 'd  tell  the  people  what  to  do."  When  his 
sons  heard  Theodore  Parker,  they  said,  "  How  father  would  have 
enjoyed  him  ! "  He  rarely  went  to  church,  but  gave  money 
liberally  towards  building  the  Methodist  Church,  and  providing 
it  with  a  bell ;  and  when  camp-meetings  were  held  in  his  w7oods, 
he  not  only  gave  the  use  of  the  land  freely,  with  pasturage  for 
the  horses,  but  often,  when  it  rained,  he  would  send  for  all  the 
preachers  to  come  to  his  house  instead  of  letting  them  pass 
the  night  in  the  tents.  Many  of  them. stayed  in  the  house. 
Although  opposed  to  the  popular  views  of  religion,  he  was  highly 


4 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


respected  in  the  town,  where  his  judgment  was  generally  deferred 
to.  He  was  a  justice  of  the  peace,  and  "  Squire  Cheney  "  settled 
the  quarrels  of  the  neighborhood.  He  took  a  warm  interest  in 
temperance  ;  and  while  he  did  not  refuse  his  men  the  allowance 
of  rum  which  was  then  considered  a  right,  he  abandoned  the  use 
of  it  himself,  and  gave  higher  wages  to  those  who  would  do 
without  it.  He  was  very  simple  in  dress,  even  objecting  to 
shiny  boots  and  hats,  or  to  a  bow  on  "  mother's  Sunday  bon- 
net "  ;  yet  he  was  married  in  a  yellow  satin  waistcoat  and  purple 
breeches,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  times.  He  disliked 
the  custom  of  wearing  mourning,  and  never  followed  it. 

The  water-power  was  successively  used  for  a  saw-mill,  a  grist- 
mill, and  a  fuller's  mill.  The  father  cultivated  the  farm,  took 
prizes  for  wheat,  and  was  careful  to  have  an  early  vegetable 
garden.  Watermelons  were  his  favorite  fruit,  and  he  planted 
an  acre  with  them,  so  that  in  the  season  a  cartload  was  brought 
up  to  the  house,  a  table  set  out,  and  family  and  neighbors  were 
invited  to  partake  of  the^n  freely.  He  took  great  pains  to 
lighten  the  work  of  the  household  by  many  ingenious  contriv- 
ances, and  had  a  wash-house  built  by  the  brook,  into  which  the 
water  was  led.  He  had  no  contempt  for  woman  or  her  work, 
and  never  thought  it  unmanly  to  relieve  his  wife  of  the  care  of 
the  baby.    He  wrote  in  his  scrap-book  :  — 

"  God  forbid  that  a  woman  should  hold  her  peace  because  she  is  a 
woman.  Methinks  the  Apostle  meant  no  such  thing,  but  meant  that 
they  should  let  their  light  shine  before  men." 

The  mother  was  a  woman  of  fine,  clear  intelligence,  strong 
feeling,  and  dignified  character,  but  not  demonstrative.  She 
loved  her  children,  and  spared  no  pains  for  their  welfare,  but 
she  never  petted  them.  At  first  she  did  nearly  all  the  work  of 
the  household.  This  included  not  only  the  cooking,  cleaning, 
and  washing  for  the  family  and  two  or  three  workmen,  but  the 
spinning,  weaving,  and  dyeing  or  bleaching  of  the  cloth,  and  the 


4 

BIRTH  AND  CHILDHOOD.  5 

making  of  nearly  all  the  garments.  She  usually  hired  some  help 
for  the  spinning  and  weaving.  The  wheat  was  raised  on  the 
farm,  and  the  flour  bolted  in  a  large  back  shed,  where  many  a 
poor  neighbor  came  and  received  "  a  baking."  The  boys  once 
reaped,  threshed,  and  bolted  the  rye,  and  had  the  bread  made  and 
baked  in  the  same  day. 

When  the  family  became  so  numerous  that  it  hindered  her 
husband  too  much  to  care  for  the  little  ones  while  she  cooked, 
she  hired  a  girl.  Sometimes  her  sister  Mary  or  Esther  or  her 
niece  Jane  lived  with  and  helped  her.  Lovisa  Eich,  a  young 
relative,  came  there  as  "  help  "  when  Seth  was  two  years  old, 
and  has  been  one  of  the  household  ever  since.  She  was  a  great 
worker,  and  "  Mother  Cheney "  and  "  Visa "  have  often  done  a 
baking  after  the  others  were  in  bed. 

When  the  boys  went  to  bed  they  threw  out  their  jackets  and 
trousers,  rent  by  the  labors  and  frolics  of  the  day,  and  "  Mother  " 
put  patch  upon  patch,  sewing  by  the  light  of  candles  of  her  own 
dipping,  and  had  all  whole  and  neat  for  the  next  day. 

What  wonder  that  when  Seth  took  her  cold  dead  hand  in  his, 
he  said,  "  How  much  this  hand  has  done ! " 

The  father  and  mother  were  in  the  habit  of  sitting  side  by 
side  at  one  end  of  the  table  instead  of  on  opposite  sides,  as 
parents  usually  do.  The  children  sat  in  the  order  of  their  ages. 
If  one  were  absent,  the  next  oldest  took  his  place. 

Nine  children  came  in  pretty  regular  succession,  about  two 
years  apart,  —  George  Wells,  John,  Charles,  Ealph,  Seth  Wells, 
Ward,  Bush,  Frank,  and  lastly,  a  little  girl,  the  pet  of  all  the 
eight  brothers,  Electa  Woodbridge.  The  father  had  a  fancy  for 
naming  all  the  boys  with  monosyllables.  Seth  was  named  for 
a  relative,  whose  wife  gave  him  the  silver  cup  which  he  used 
in  his  last  illness  and  left  to  his  child  on  his  death-bed. 

Seth  was  endowed  with  less  physical  health  and  strength  than 
any  of  his  brothers.    He  said  that  his  first  remembrance  was 


6  MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 

of  headache,  and  he  recalled  the  special  indulgences  which  were 
granted  to  his  feebleness.  He  did  not  often  in  after  life  recur 
to  his  childish  days.  The  grand  struggle  of  life  began  early  in 
his  soul,  and  he  was  always  an  earnest,  thoughtful  child.  He 
was  more  in  the  house  than  the  others,  and  his  nature  drew 
him  more  closely  to  his  mother,  whom  lie  did  not  scorn  to  help. 
When  with  the  fond  delight  of  a  father  he  assisted  in  undressing 
his  baby,  as  he  warmed  her  little  garments  he  was  reminded  how 
he  used  to  "  warm  the  clouts  "  for  his  mother,  who  had  then  no 
daughter  to  help  her. 

His  first  visit  from  home  was  to  a  cousin's  (Mr.  Blish)  in 
Eastbury.  The  little  fellow  eagerly  anticipated  this  pleasure; 
but  homesickness  overpowered  him,  and  he  was  so  unhappy 
that  the  old  farmer  took  him  on  his  horse  before  him  and 
brought  him  home,  where  he  arrived  in  a  state  of  mingled 
mortification  and  delight. 

He  was  sensitive,  although  not  exactly  timid.  During  his 
childhood  a  rat  was  one  day  chased  about  the  room  until  it 
took  refuge  behind  the  clock.  At  night  it  escaped,  and  crawled 
over  the  sleeping  boy.  He  was  awakened  by  its  touch,  and  lay 
paralyzed  with  fear  as  it  dragged  its  cold  tail  slowly  across  his 
face.  How  lon^  that  tail  was !  He  remembered  this  incident 
vividly  in  after  life.  He  sometimes  saw  faces  at  the  window. 
This  sensitiveness  probably  prevented  his  childhood  from  being 
the  happy,  careless  time  it  ought  to  be. 

A  little  piece  of  Seth's  writing  remains,  which  he  gave  to 
"Visa":  — 

"  When  our  parents  and  friends  die  and  are  laid  in  the  cold  ground, 
we  see  them  here  no  more  ;  but  there  we  shall  embrace  them  again,  and 
live  with  them,  and  be  separated  no  more ;  there  we  meet  all  good  men 
whom  we  read  of  in  holy  books." 

On  the  reverse  is  written,  "  L.  Eich,  you  please  to  read  this 
letter,"  with  a  date,  1820,  and  his  name,  Seth  W.  Cheney.    It  is 


BIRTH  AND  CHILDHOOD. 


7 


written  on  an  old  piece  of  paper,  on  which  there  is  some  illegible 
writing.  The  date,  which  would  make  him  nearly  or  quite  ten 
years  old,  accords  pretty  well  with  "  Visa's  "  recollections ;  but 
the  handwriting  and  spelling,  unless  copied  directly,  are  remark- 
ably good  for  that  age. 

The  boys  went  about  a  mile  to  school,  staying  all  day.  Six 
good,  large  doughnuts  apiece  was  their  ordinary  provision  for 
luncheon.  The  winter  school  began  immediately  after  Thanks- 
giving, and  the  thought  of  this  was  a  drawback  on  the  pleas- 
ures of  that  festival.  Seth  never  loved  school.  A  New  England 
school  of  those  days  was  a  severe  ordeal.  The  routine  of  study 
was  dry  and  uninteresting,  and  the  only  discipline  consisted  in 
a  blow  for  every  breach  of  order.  Seth  had  little  intercourse 
with  other  children,  and  formed  no  strong  attachments  among 
his  schoolmates,  but  ran  home  all  the  way  as  soon  as  school 
was  out. 

He  often  recounted  a  childish  fault.  He  once  told  a  lie.  One 
of  the  older  boys  had  a  Testament,  which  was  old,  but  the  type 
was  handsome,  the  binding  pleased  his  fancy,  and  he  liked  to  read 
from  it.  The  owner  of  the  book  being  absent,  Seth  took  it  to 
read  from.  It  had  a  hole  in  the  cover,  which,  after  the  manner 
of  children,  he  picked  at  until  he  had  visibly  enlarged  it.  On  his 
return,  the  owner  complained  to  the  master  of  the  injury  done 
to  the  book.  Seth  denied  his  deed  stoutly,  but  in  vain ;  he  was 
punished  by  the  master.  This  lie  came  not  so  much  from  fear 
of  punishment  as  from  a  shyness  of  nature,  which  prompted  him 
to  concealment  without  any  adequate  motive.  He  would  mend 
the  quill  pens,  and  shoot  them  across  the  school-room  to  his  cousin. 
One  of  the  teachers,  for  whom  he  felt  affection,  although  he  was 
rather  a  severe  disciplinarian,  was  Colonel  Brown,  who  survived 
his  pupil,  living  to  a  great  old  age  in  South  Manchester.  Seth 
visited  the  old  man  and  enjoyed  him  up  to  the  close  of  his 
life.    He  often  spoke  of  him  as  showing  what  varied  stores  of 


8 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


thought  may  be  gathered  during  the  course  of  an  obscure  and 
laborious  life,  with  few  opportunities  for  literary  or  social 
culture. 

One  other  summer  teacher,  Miss  Keeney,  —  called  by  the 
children  Aunt  Melissa,  —  was  much  beloved  by  him.  She  finally 
became  a  bedridden  invalid,  but  bore  her  great  sufferings  very 
patiently.  Seth  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting  her  and  carrying 
her  pictures  and  flowers  until  the  close  of  her  life. 

The  boys  had  merry,  happy  times  together.  They  helped  on 
the  farm,  "  raked  after  cart,"  and  did  whatever  was  to  be  done 
to  help  father  or  mother.  When  it  was  "  too  wet  to  work  out- 
doors, they  went  fishing."  Ward  was  as  full  of  mischief  as  of 
goodness,  and  often  played  practical  jokes  upon  Jane.  Seth  was 
her  protector.  He  understood  that  it  was  real  suffering  for  the 
poor  child  to  be  suddenly  locked  into  a  dark  closet  or  kept  in 
constant  terror  of  a  pistol. 

He  had  a  repugnance  to  both  cats  and  dogs,  and  liked  horses 
only  moderately.  He  was  full  of  mechanical  invention,  and 
made  a  machine  for  cutting  profiles  and  a  swift  for  winding 
yarn.  He  learned  something  of  the  cabinet-maker's  trade,  and 
was  always  skilful  in  the  use  of  tools.  After  he  had  been  en- 
gaged in  mental  labor,  such  mechanical  work  was  refreshing  to 
him,  and  he  would  often  say,  "  How  pleasant  it  is  to  do  some- 
thing I  can  clo  !  " 

The  father  did  not  oblige  the  children  to  go  to  church,  though 
they  often  went  with  their  mother,  but  he  said  they  must  behave 
themselves  on  Sunday ;  and  they  popped  corn,  or  boiled  wheat, 
or  made  candy,  or  cut  out  whistles,  and  did  not  engage  in  any 
noisy  sports.  But  as  the  Connecticut  Sabbath  always  began  on 
Saturday  at  sundown  and  closed  on  Sunday  at  sunset,  the  boys 
ran  to  the  top  of  the  house  to  watch  the  setting  of  the  luminary, 
and  crying,  "  Sun 's  down  !  sun 's  down  ! "  went  out,  with  a 
whoop  and  halloo,  to  vent  their  pent-up  energies  in  the  open  air. 


BIRTH  AND  CHILDHOOD. 


9 


When  some  of  his  sons  were  converted  and  baptized,  the 
father  only  remarked,  that  "  it  would  not  hurt  them." 

The  housekeeping  was  liberal,  and  there  was  always  a  keg  of 
molasses  in  the  cellar  which  the  boys  could  go  to  at  pleasure. 
One  day  they  were  indulging  in  a  candy  frolic  while  the  parents 
were  away.  The  old  bellows-top  chaise  could  be  seen  a  long- 
distance up  the  lane,  and  one  of  the  boys  was  stationed  to  give 
warning  of  its  approach.  Just  as  a  large  spider  full  of  candy 
was  about  ready,  the  watch  gave  notice  that  father  and  mother 
were  coming.  A  nicely  buttered  platter  stood  ready  to  receive 
the  candy.  Seth  seized  the  spider  to  pour  it  out ;  but  the  paper 
holder  slipped  in  his  hand,  and  the  spider  and  its  contents  fell 
on  the  floor,  breaking  the  platter  and  scattering  the  sticky  candy. 
Great  was  the  scrabble  to  get  all  cleaned  up  and  hidden  away ; 
and  it  was  accomplished  in  time,  and  the  broken  platter  was 
only  discovered  after  a  week  or  two,  when  the  offence  was  out- 
lawed by  time. 

Seth  attended  a  higher  school  on  the  Green,  kept  by  a  college 
graduate,  where  he  learned  a  little  French  and  Latin,  even  read- 
ing Virgil.  There  was  talk  of  his  going  to  college  and  becoming 
a  minister,  but  his  school  education  ceased  at  this  point. 

When  his  father  became  ill,  and  anxious  about  his  affairs, 
Seth  had  a  soothing  influence  upon  him.  He  would  sit  for 
hours  patiently  listening  to  his  doubts  and  cares,  and  gently 
and  cheerfully  persuade  him  out  of  them  into  the  belief  that 
all  was  well. 

His  father  died  July  19,  1829.  John  had  already  gone  to 
Boston,  and  was  working  as  an  engraver.  Seth  joined  him  there, 
and  entered  upon  the  same  profession. 


\ 


10 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


CHAPTEK  II. 
ENGRAVING. 

CIETH'S  earliest  engraving  extant  is  dated  1830.  He  studied 
drawing  and  perspective  carefully  with  Mr.  Smith,  a  very 
thorough  teacher,  and  drew  on  stone  with  Mr.  Pendleton.  He 
lived  with  Mr.  Pelton,  in  Hayward  Place.  John  went  to  Eu- 
rope, in  June,  1830,  and  Seth  remained  in  Boston  studying  and 
working. 

Seth  took  great  pleasure  in  the  collection  of  casts  and  pictures 
at  the  Athenaeum  in  Pearl  Street,  and  accepted  a  position  there 
as  guardian  of  its  treasures,  which  gave  him  opportunity  for  work 
and  study.  While  here,  in  1832,  he  engraved  a  picture  of  All- 
ston's,  the  "  Mother  and  Child,"  which  was  afterwards  burned. 

In  1832  he  was  ill  with  cholera  in  Boston,  and  was  care- 
fully nursed  by  a  fellow-engraver,  Mr.  Hills,  of  Burlington,  Vt. 
They  were  then  at  a  hotel  on  Washington  Street.  They  after- 
wards boarded  together  at  Alonzo  Heartwell's. 

Mr.  Hills  describes  Seth  as 

"  Very  young,  slim,  with  a  long  face,  a  somewhat  projecting  chin, 
and  firm  lips.  His  eyes  were  most  expressive,  all  soul.  Hair  light, 
silky,  flowing,  and  voice  clear.  More  poetry  in  him  than  in  John. 
This  appeared  in  the  engravings." 

Again  he  says  :  — 

"  He  was  fine  ;  never  angry,  not  once.  He  was  fond  of  humor, 
enjoying  a  good  laugh.  He  used  to  say,  1  The  dinner  is  half  a  man's 
life.'  They  were  both  absorbed  in  engraving.  No  cards  nor  games 
interested  Mr.  Cheney,  nor  society,  nor  dancing.    But  he  enjoyed  ram- 


ENGRAVING. 


11 


bles  in  the  country,  particularly  over  Chesterfield  Mt.,  where  he  fought 
a  big  rattlesnake,  which  escaped.  He  liked  to  he  with  friends  and 
fellow-engravers." 

His  brother  Charles,  then  in  business  in  Providence,  offered 
to  supply  him  with  money  until  he  could  support  himself  by 
his  work. 

Little  record  remains  of  these  years,  when  his  time  was  divided 
between  his  work  in  Boston,  Brattleboro',  and  Hartford,  and  his 
times  of  refreshment  at  Manchester. 

Mrs.  Charles  Cheney's  letters  give  lively  pictures  of  the  home 
at  this  time,  Sept.  18,  1831.    She  writes  of  Manchester  :  — 

"  I  was  delighted  with  your  friends  there.  I  love  them  all.  So 
kind  and  hospitable,  they  all  seem  to  form  but  one  family.  It  seemed 
like  the  old  patriarchal  days,  when  all  dwelt  under  one  roof-tree.  Seth 
is  still  at  home.  He  has  improved  much  in  health  since  he  went.  He 
has  just  completed  a  very  fine  piece,  the  'Dead  Soldier.'  You  have 
seen  the  design,  I  suppose,  a  thousand  times ;  but  he  has  executed  it 
in  a  superior  manner.    He  improves  very  rapidly,  I  think." 

Again :  — 

"  Seth  is  at  home  recruiting.  .  .  .  An  engraving  that  he  has  just 
finished  —  a  scene  from  '  Guy  Mannering '  —  is,  I  think,  an  admirable 
thing." 

Again  :  — 

"  Seth's  last  engraving  has  excited  a  great  deal  of  admiration.  I 
think  his  improvement  is  wonderful.  He  spends  the  summer  at  home ; 
appears  to  be  in  good  spirits." 

This  picture  from  "  Guy  Mannering "  appears  to  have  been 
the  one  published  afterwards  in  an  annual  as  the  "  Invisible 
Serenader." 

''March  3,  1832. 

"Balph  and  Seth  had  just  completed,  last  summer,  a  beautiful 
summer-house  in  the  garden,  entirely  covered  with  a  grape-vine  that, 
for  size  and  luxuriance,  exceeded  anything  I  ever  saw.  In  the  centre 
of  it  they  had  arranged  an  artificial  fountain  by  the  aid  of  the  little 


12 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


brook.  It  throws  up  the  water  about  three  feet,  and  in  the  evening 
has  a  brilliant  effect. 

"  Seth  is  still  at  home,  and  is  very  well ;  is  at  work  for  Goodrich." 

"July  25,  1832. 

"  Cholera  year.  Seth  went  to  Boston  a  few  weeks  ago.  He  writes 
that  he  is  well,  but  very  homesick." 

LETTER  FROM  SETH  TO  JOHN,  IN  ENGLAND. 

Boston,  22  July,  1831. 

Dear  Brother,  —  I  have  not  heard  fifc)m  you  for  a  long  time. 
How  are  you  1  Why  don't  you  write  1  I  suppose  you  are  much  en- 
gaged 1  What  are  you  doing  1  Goodrich  expects  a  plate  from  you 
every  day.  I  think  the  one  you  have  done  is  a  splendid  affair.  So 
thinks  every  one  who  has  seen  it.  I  have  done  the  "  Dead  Soldier"  I 
mentioned  to  you.  Have  just  finished  it ;  succeeded  very  well.  I  find 
the  greatest  difficulty  in  biting ;  in  laying,  the  ground  does  not  hold. 
Can't  get  good  ground  here. 

Gallaudet's  health  is  very  poor  indeed.  Tell  you  what  we  are 
going  to  do.  I  am  going  home,  and  he  goes  with  me  to  try  farming 
this  summer  and  fall.  I  think  there  is  nothing  else  will  do  him  any 
good.  He  has  been  living  in  Charlestown  this  few  weeks,  but  does 
not  get  any  better,  and  now  he  says  he  makes  this  last  effort.  I  think 
we  shall  have  a  good  time  there.  He  anticipates  a  good  deal  of  pleas- 
ure. He  has  just  finished  a  plate  for  Goodrich,  from  Fisher,  —  a  fine 
thing,  too.  ...  I  shall  engrave  most  of  the  time,  for  Goodrich  thinks 
there  is  not  much  doubt  but  that  he  shall  go  on  with  the  "  Token  "  next 
year,  and  I  shall  begin  something  for  it ;  the  worst  of  it  is,  I  can't  find 
subjects.  .  .  . 

Dr.  Doane  is  well.  Miss  Caroline  and  Eliza,  Charles  and  his  lady, 
Miss  Binney  and  WTadsworth  and  myself  took  a  trip  to  Nahant  yester- 
day.   Had  a  fine  time  amongst  the  rocks. 

The  next  day  after  I  wrote  you  from  home,  Richard  Pitkin  and 
one  of  John  Willis's  sons,  about  the  same  age,  were  drowned  while 
bathing,  which  is  two  Uncle  has  lost  in  about  a  month. 

I  hope  you  will  write  more  to  us.  I  must  beg  pardon  for  not 
writing  oftener,  but  I  imagine  you  don't  find  mine  hardly  worth  read- 


ENGRAVING. 


13 


ing.    I  can't  find  anything  worth  writing  about  is  the  d          of  it. 

Gallaudet  says  he  will  write  you  when  he  gets  farming  and  better, 
which  I  hope  will  be  soon. 
Write. 

Yours,  Sep. 

Mr.  John  Cheney, 

No.  8  Buckingham  Place, 
Fitzroy  Square,  London. 

While  engaged  in  engraving  he  spent  some  time  in  Brattle- 
boro',  Vt.,  where  he  worked  for  Holbrook  and  Fessenden,  on  a 
comprehensive  commentary  of  the  Bible.  The  work  was  a  pe- 
cuniary failure,  and  I  have  never  seen  a  copy  of  it. 

LETTER  TO  HIS  MOTHER. 

Brattleboro',  1 4th  Saturday. 

Dear  Mother,  —  I  wrote  on  a  paper*  last  week  that  I  was  going 
to  Vermont,  and  here  I  am.  You  will  think,  perhaps,  rather  strange 
of  my  coming  to  this  place  to  engrave ;  but  as  there  was  a  chance  of 
getting  employment  for  at  least  one  year,  and  perhaps  four  or  five,  I 
thought  I  could  not  do  better  than  come.  The  work  I  am  engaged 
on  is  very  profitable,  and  I  am  very  pleasantly  situated  with  Hills, 
who  accompanied  me  from  Boston.  Ralph  knows  him.  We  room 
together,  and  board  also.  This  is  —  or,  rather,  will  be  —  a  very  pleas- 
ant place  in  the  spring  and  summer,  situated  as  it  is  on  the  banks  of 
the  Connecticut  River,  which  winds  along  within  a  few  rods  of  our 
office  ;  and  a  lofty  mountain  rises  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river, 
which  makes  the  view  very  fine.  The  steamboats  run  occasionally  as 
far  as  here,  which  will  make  it  easy  getting  home,  which  I  shall  do 
as  soon  as  I  get  time,  —  by  the  first  of  May,  I  think,  if  not  before  ; 
but  I  have  said  enough  of  myself. 

I  have  had  no  letter  from  John  since  I  have  been  in  Boston,  but 
heard,  a  few  days  before  I  came  here,  second  hand,  that  he  was  in 
Paris,  and  well.    I  think  we  must  hear  from  him  soon.    Perhaps  he 
will  bring  news  of  himself. 
Hurry,  hurry  !  Sep. 


*  Before  the  days  of  cheap  letter  postage  it  was  very  customary  to  send  a  news- 
paper on  which  a  few  words  were  written. 


14 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


During  these  years  Seth  occasionally  visited  Providence, 
where  his  brothers  Charles  and  Ward  were  living ;  and  Charles 
speaks  in  letters  of  some  efforts  in  oil-painting  that  both  Seth 
and  Ward  had  made,  which  he  thinks  very  promising. 

In  1831  or  1832  he  walked  with  his  brother  Ward  from 
Providence  to  South  Manchester  on  a  very  hot  day. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  LETTERS  FROM  JOHN  TO  SETH. 

Boston,  Thursday,  Nov.  —  (?). 

Dear  Brother,  —  T  got  your  letter  day  before  yesterday.  I  have 
obtained  twenty-five  dollars  from  Bowen  for  you,  which  I  send  in 
this  letter.  I  would  send  you  more,  but  he  desired  very  much  that 
we  should  wait  about  a  month  longer.  He  has  given  me  about  forty 
dollars  since  I  came  here,  and  will  continue  to  pay  what  we  shall  want 
for  our  expenses  until  then. 

Since  I  wrote  you  I  have  got  a  picture  of  Mr.  Allston's  to  engrave 
from.  It  is  called  "  Beatrice."  I  don't  know  as  you  ever  saw  it ;  it  is 
a  head.  I  like  it  very  much.  Besides  this,  I  believe  they  have  not 
decided  on  any  other  subject.  There  is  one  by  Newton,  called  "  Don 
Quixote,"  which  will  no  doubt  be  done.  It  has  been  offered  to  Gal- 
laudet,  but  he  does  not  like  it.    'T  is,  however,  a  spunky  thing. 

As  for  Pendleton,  I  do  not  know  if  he  wishes  to  engage  an  en- 
graver by  the  year  or  not.  I  have  never  asked  him  directly,  nor  has 
he  proposed.  They  have,  however,  considerable  work  to  do.  They 
have  desired  that  I  shall  do  a  number  of  things,  and  they  wish,  also, 
to  engage  you.  I  have  not  been  able  to  find  anything  convenient  to 
send  to  you.  The  "  Token  "  people  are  determined  to  have  their  plates 
from  original,  and,  if  possible,  from  American  painters. 

I  can't  help  thinking  that  it  would  be  better  for  your  health  to 
work  at  home,  if  you  could  find  it  possible  to  get  along  with  your 
plates  there. 

London,  Nov.  28,  1830. 
If  you  are  pleased  with  your  situation  in  the  Athenaeum,  I  advise  . 
you  to  keep  it ;  for  if  you  should  leave,  I  think  you  would  miss  the 
advantages  you  find  there  very  much ;  for,  besides  the  facilities  for 
your  own  profession,  the  library  and  other  things  there  make  a  valuable 


ENGRAVING. 


15 


mine  of  knowledge  that  cannot  fail  to  be  of  great  use  to  you  as  well  as 
amusement.  It  is  very  well  that  you  are  going  to  practise  drawing, 
but  how  or  when  do  you  intend  to  do  it  1  It  is  a  pity  there  is  not 
convenience  for  drawing  from  the  very  fine  collection  of  casts  at  the 
Athenaeum.  However,  by  often  viewing  them,  and  comparing  their 
different  parts,  and  one  figure  with  another,  you  will  almost  insensibly 
acquire  a  correctness  of  eye  and  taste  that  will  assist  you  in  whatever 
you  attempt  to  do. 

I  don't  know  as  I  am  capable  of  giving  you  any  instruction.  I 
believe  the  greatest  fault,  from  first  to  last,  that  one  is  liable  to  fall 
into,  and  is  the  most  to  be  guarded  against,  is  a  disproportion  of  the 
different  parts  of  the  figure,  or  whatever  object  you  are  drawing  ;  and 
I  think  the  only  way  to  avoid  it  is  to  keep  the  eye  upon  the  whole 
object,  and  lightly  touch  in  the  main  points  and  most  characteristic 
portions  of  the  form,  and  when  you  find  that  they  are  right  and  you 
have  blocked  in  the  whole  correctly,  you  can  proceed  to  the  detail  with 
some  certainty  of  success,  and  save  much  labor  and  disappointment. 
A  good  and  forcible  outline,  you  must  know,  is  everything ;  the  rest 
is  comparatively  mechanical  and  easy. 

As  for  shading,  I  believe  it  is  as  well  to  use  the  stump  first  as  after- 
ward ;  in  hatching  or  scumbling,  it  is  not  necessary  to  be  so  very 
careful  as  it  otherwise  would  be.  It  is  well  enough,  no  doubt,  to 
give  some  effect  by  lines,  and  in  that  way  acquire  a  habit  of  laying 
them  in  with  more  ease  and  freedom  on  your  plate  ;  but  it  is  not  well 
to  use  them  in  your  drawing,  for  it  will  cause  you  unnecessary  pains. 
Do  it  only  for  a  general  idea.  It  saves  a  good  deal  of  time  to  use 
tinted  paper  and  white  chalk  for  the  strongest  light.  As  I  thought 
you  could  not  get  it  in  Boston,  I  have  sent  some,  directed  to  the  care 
of  Mr.  Goodrich.  .  .  . 

I  advise  you  to  learn  music  on  some  instrument.  You  will  find 
it  a  great  solace  ;  besides,  I  think  it  of  some  use  to  an  artist.  .  .  . 

I  conclude  by  what  you  say  that  you  are  getting  on  famously  with 
your  engraving.  Go  on,  but  don't  run  too  fast.  Strive  to  work  in 
a  neat  and  simple  manner,  and  yet  be  very  careful  never  to  sacrifice 
the  true  character  for  mechanical  beauty.  Anything  that  deserves  the 
name  of  style  comes  from  a  perception  of  the  effect  which  different 
lines  produce,  such  as  cold  or  warm,  smooth  or  rough,  clear  or  obscure, 
&c. ;  and  by  observing  these  effects  and  attending  to  them,  I  think  we 


16 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


shall  certainly  get  into  the  right  way ;  but,  like  color  in  painting,  that 
ought  to  be  a  secondary  consideration,  the  form  and  expression  being 
always  first.  Study  good  painting  and  prints.  It  is  not  well  to  at- 
tempt work  in  small  things  (as  to  style) ;  look  out  for  the  general 
effect.  .  .  . 

I  have  not  become  acquainted  with  many  people  here.  I  have  seen 
Mr.  Leslie,  and  am  very  much  pleased  with  him.  He  has  given  me 
a  ticket  to  the  lectures  at  the  Boyal  Academy.  As  for  me,  I  am 
pretty  well  situated  ;  am  engaged  engraving  at  my  lodgings  during  the 
day,  and  I  attend  at  a  drawing  academy  during  the  evening ;  am  get- 
ting on  tolerably  well.  My  eyes  are  troublesome,  but  they  get  no 
worse.    My  health  is  very  good. 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

John. 

John  remained  a  year  and  a  half  in  England,  and  then  went 
to  Paris,  where  Seth  joined  him  in  April,  1833,  and  was  engaged 
in  studying  drawing  and  in  engraving.  He  studied  with  the 
Trench  painter  Isabey,  and  worked  with  George  L.  Brown,  the 
landscape  painter. 

He  made  the  acquaintance  of  M.  Dubourjal,  an  excellent 
miniature  painter,  with  whom  he  formed  a  lasting  and  cordial 
friendship.  Both  brothers  boarded  with  him,  —  once  in  the  Bue 
Vivienne,  and  again  in  the  Bue  St.  Antoine.  He  was  a  man 
of  singular  sweetness  and  beauty  of  character.  He  painted  a 
miniature  of  Seth  in  1834,  which  is  the  only  picture  remaining 
to  give  an  idea  of  his  youthful  beauty. 

While  in  Paris,  Seth  engraved,  with  John's  aid,  for  Mr.  Good- 
rich, a  plate  called  the  "  Young  Savoyard,"  worth  two  hundred 
dollars.  This  was  lost  at  the  bankers'  in  a  way  never  accounted 
for.    It  was  a  serious  loss  to  our  struggling  young  artists. 

He  visited  Bouen  during  this  trip,  and  was  greatly  delighted 
with  its  cathedrals. 

John  and  Seth  both  studied  in  De  la  Boche's  atelier.  It  was 
then  the  custom  for  the  students  to  receive  new-comers  with 


ENGRAVING. 


17 


tricks  and  jeers  similar  to  those  pranks  called  hazing  at  college. 
This  practice  was  carried  so  far  as  to  cause  the  death  of  a  stu- 
dent, which  led  De  la  Roche  to  close  his  atelier ;  but  Seth  sat 
quietly  at  his  work,  and  received  no  annoyance  from  the  pupils. 
He  had  a  great  respect  for  De  la  Roche,  and  valued  highly  a  fine 
engraved  portrait  of  him. 

He  worked  very  hard  and  lived  very  scantily,  breakfasting  on 
a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  roll,  and  often  working  until  night  without 
other  food,  when  he  took  perhaps  only  bread  and  a  glass  of  vin 
ordinaire.  Fasting  always  excited  his  brain,  and  he  worked  with 
great  delight.  But  towards  spring  his  strength  began  to  fail, 
and  he  had  so  severe  a  pain  in  his  side  that  he  consulted  a  phy- 
sician, who  applied  blisters.  He  did  not  gain  under  this  treat- 
ment, and  was  advised  to  go  to  Fontainebleau  and  drink  asses' 
milk.  He  boarded  with  a  Madame  Elizabeth,  who  was  very 
kind  to  him ;  and  an  old  man  brought  the  ass  up  to  the  win- 
dow every  morning  and  drew  the  milk  for  him  to  drink. 

He  still  remained  so  feeble,  however,  that  John  came  to  Fon- 
tainebleau and  decided  to  take  him  home.  They  went  by  sail- 
ing vessel,  about  May  12,  1834,  and  had  a  long  passage.  Their 
principal  food  was  baked  potatoes,  which  were  very  good. 
Seth  used  to  describe  one  old  lean  turkey  which  was  killed 
and  boiled  for  a  treat  on  the  voyage,  but  which  proved  to  be 
very  stringy. 

He  improved  greatly  in  health  during  the  voyage ;  but  he 
referred  much  of  his  subsequent  physical  suffering  to  this  early 
illness. 

Mr.  Crossman  says  :  — 

"  The  first  plate  which  he  engraved  —  a  copy,  I  think,  from  one 
of  the  illustrations  of  the  Waverley  Novels  —  was  as  exquisitely  done 
as  it  could  have  been  by  the  most  experienced  and  skilful  artist  in  the 
country,  showing  no  mark  of  the  equivocating  hand  of  a  novice,  but 
every  line  and  dot  exhibiting  the  firm,  decided,  yet  delicate  tone  of  a 
master.    The  expression,  too,  of  the  whole  picture,  as  well  as  the  mi- 

2 


18 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


nutest  detail,  was  wonderfully  preserved.  I  well  remember  that  the 
old  engravers,  on  hearing  the  facts,  were  perfectly  amazed  by  this 
work,  and  considered  it  a  miraculous  performance." 

This  refers,  probably,  to  the  engraving  from  "  Guy  Mannering," 
in  Parker's  edition. 

"  When  John  and  Seth  went  to  Paris,  about  the  year  1831  or  1832, 
with  several  commissions  from  S.  G.  Goodrich  for  engravings  for  the 
'  Token,'  I  recollect  that  the  engraved  plates  came  home  without  having 
any  name  to  intimate  by  whom  they  had  been  engraved.  Mr.  Good- 
rich wished,  for  obvious  reasons,  to  have  the  name  of  the  engraver 
attached  to  each  plate ;  and  being  unable  to  decide  which  was  John's 
and  which  Seth's  work,  he  brought  the  plates  and  proofs  to  several 
engravers,  to  see  if  we  could  tell  whose  name  should  be  placed  on  the 
different  plates.  All  confessed  that  we  could  not  decide  with  any  cer- 
tainty. The  engravings  were  all  excellent,  and  of  very  nearly  equal 
merit  as  artistic  productions,  but  all  ventured  to  '  guess '  that  one  was 
probably  the  work  of  John,  because  it  appeared  a  trifle  more  masterly 
than  the  others.  The  plates  were  published,  however,  with  the  name 
Cheney  alone,  no  one  daring  to  risk  his  reputation  by  deciding  between 
them.  When  the  brothers  returned  from  Paris,  it  was  found  that  the 
finest  engraving  was  the  work  of  Seth. 

"All  Seth's  engravings,  like  his  drawings,  whether  portraits  or 
landscapes  in  crayon,  have  a  charming  sweetness  and  beauty  of  ex- 
pression very  rarely  met  with  even  in  the  best  productions  of  the  best 
artists.  The  effect  of  his  work  is  to  produce  the  same  pleasurable 
thrill,  or  something  nearly  akin  to  it,  we  experience  in  the  best  exam- 
ples of  Grecian  art,  —  an  emanation  of  beauty  which  almost  entrances 
the  beholder,  that  makes  '  the  sense  ache.'  " 

Mr.  Schoff  also  speaks  of  the  wonderful  facility  with  which 
Seth  gained  a  mastery  of  the  art  of  engraving. 

This  anecdote  shows  the  close  relation  between  the  brothers, 
whose  whole  artistic  life  was  so  interwoven  that  it  is  difficult  to 
separate  it.  When  some  one  asked  Seth  why  he  thought  so 
much  of  John,  he  replied,  "  Why,  he  taught  me  all  that  ever  I 
knew." 


ENGRAVING. 


19 


The  number  of  his  engravings  is  not  large.  The  subjects  are 
usually  simple  genre  pictures,  as  the  "Soldier's  Widow"  and 
the  "  Pilot  Boy."  As  it  was  difficult  to  procure  good  subjects 
at  that  time,  some  of  his  engravings  were  copied  from  English 
or  French  prints. 


20 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


CHAPTEE  III. 

WESTERN  LIFE. 

AN  his  return  from  Europe  Seth  remained  for  some  months 
mostly  at  Manchester.  He  and  Frank  worked  on  the  farm 
and  built  a  house  for  their  brother  Ward,  doing  most  of  the  work 
with  their  own  hands,  and  much  of  their  own  cooking,  besides. 
Seth  always  referred  to  it  as  a  very  happy  time,  and  his  health 
was  particularly  good.  He  was  not  then  seriously  engaged  in 
any  artistic  work. 

May  31,  1835,  he  started  on  a  tour  to  Niagara  Falls,  the 
Upper  Mississippi,  and  St.  Louis,  with  his  brothers  Ealph  and 
Charles. 

They  went  by  canal  from  Albany  to  Buffalo,  and  from  Buffalo 
to  Niagara  by  stage.  At  Niagara  the  ice  was  piled  up  in  the 
river  thirty  feet  thick,  and  the  spray  had  formed  a  perfect  arch 
of  ice,  making  a  most  brilliant  spectacle.  Seth  was  so  excited 
that  he  rushed  out  upon  the  ice  and  swung  his  hat  with  delight. 
He  was  soon  obliged  to  retreat,  for  he  was  drenched  to  the  skin 
with  the  cold  spray.  They  returned  to  Buffalo,  and  from  thence 
to  Cleveland,  by  steamer ;  from  there  to  Cincinnati,  to  Louisville, 
on  horseback,  and  from  Louisville  by  boat  to  St.  Louis.  At  St. 
Louis  they  had  relations,  with  whom  they  stayed.  From  St.  Louis 
Charles  and  Seth  went  up  the  Mississippi  on  a  boat,  living  on 
board. 

St.  Louis,  June  12,  1835. 
Dear  Brother,  —  As  you  must  have  expected,  I  have  kept  my 
promises  with  usual  punctuality  !    The  last  time  (and  the  first  too)  I 


WESTERN  LIFE. 


21 


wrote  you  was  from  Niagara  Falls,  in  great  haste.  The  fact  is,  we  have 
been  going  ahead  so  fast,  since  we  left  home,  that  I  have  had  hardly 
an  opportunity  of  saying  a  word.  After  leaving  the  Falls  we  went  to 
Buffalo,  and  from  thence  to  Cleveland  in  Ohio,  and  crossed  to  Cincin- 
nati by  land  —  and  a  hard  time  we  had,  too  —  the  roads  were  almost 
impassable,  we  broke  down  and  rode  on  a  rail  all  one  night;  think  of  that! 
The  scenery  is  monotonous,  very  level  till  we  get  toward  the  Ohio  River, 
where  it  improves;  but,  take  it  all  in  all,  I  was  disappointed.  The  land 
is  fine,  very  fertile,  which  is  about  all  can  be  said.  Other  parts,  from 
what  we  have  seen,  may,  however,  be  more  picturesque.  I  was  particu- 
larly pleased  with  Cincinnati ;  it  fully  realized  my  expectations.  The 
situation  is  rather  picturesque,  and  the  country  round  the  most  agree- 
able that  I  have  seen  anywhere  in  this  Western  world.  At  this  place 
we  purchased  horses ;  but,  finding  the  roads  in  so  very  bad  a  state, 
and  the  weather  very  hot,  we  rode  no  farther  than  Louisville,  Ky., 
crossing,  at  Madison,  the  Ohio  River.  The  view  of  this  place  from 
the  hills,  or  rather  bluffs,  as  they  are  called  here,  was  truly  splendid ; 
it  reminded  me  of  the  view  of  Rouen,  imagination  supplying  the  city. 
Louisville  is  a  ■"  right  smart  place,"  as  the  Kentuckians  say.  There  is 
more  "  go  ahead  "  about  it  than  I  have  seen  in  any  other  place.  There  is 
a  "heap"  of  business  done  here,  but  it  has  the  slovenly  appearance  of 
all  the  cities  in  slave  States,  and  the  streets  are  neglected  entirely.  We 
disposed  of  our  horses  here,  and  took  steamboat  for  Shawneetown,  111. 
I  found  on  board  Mr.  Brimmer,  of  Boston,  bound  up  the  Tennessee 
River,  travelling  for  his  health,  which  is  very  bad.  Stopping  at  this 
place,  we  intended  crossing  Illinois  by  land  ;  but,  the  roads  being  almost 
impassable  from  the  great  quantity  of  rain  that  has  fallen  this  spring, 
we  embarked  on  board  the  first  boat  that  passed  bound  for  St.  Louis. 
Passing  down  the  Ohio  River,  the  scenery  is  the  most  monotonous  and 
dull  of  any  I  ever  saw.  Every  turn  of  the  river  presented  the  same 
scene.  I  am  compelled  to  say  the  same  of  the  Mississippi  River,  though 
it  is  on.  a  larger  scale.  About  half-way  between  the  mouth  of  the 
Ohio  and  St.  Louis,  on  a  tremendously  dark  and  stormy  night,  we  ran 
foul  of  a  snag,  breaking  at  the  same  time  our  shaft.  We  were  in  about 
thirty  feet  of  water,  with  perpendicular  banks  about  the  same  height; 
but  fortunately  the  Metamora  steamer  happened  to  be  passing,  and 
towed  the  boat  ashore.  As  she  had  but  few  passengers,  we  exchanged, 
leaving  hers  on  board  our  boat,  to  be  taken  by  another,  which  they  knew 


22 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


would  be  passing  in  the  course  of  the  night,  and  returning  with  us  to 
St.  Louis,  by  which  accident  we  arrived  there  much  sooner  than  we 
should  have  done  by  the  other  boat.  I  was  not  much  pleased  with 
this  place.  We  stopped  here  but  a  short  time,  and  passed  up  the  Illi- 
nois River  and  visited  some  of  the  principal  places  in  the  interior  of 
the  State,  saw  a  prairie  for  the  first  time  here,  spent  about  a  fortnight 
in  Illinois,  and  returned  to  St.  Louis  day  before  yesterday.  We  slept 
at  Major  Bissell's  last  night.  He  has  the  pleasantest  situation  that  I 
have  seen  in  this  country.  We  are  bound  now  for  Galena,  up  the  Mis- 
sissippi. Ralph  returns  home  across  the  country.  I  have  no  more 
time,  as  the  boat  leaves  in  a  moment.  Sep. 

Charles  left  Seth  here,  who  went  up  to  the  Falls  of  St.  An- 
thony, and  round  by  the  Sault  St.  Marie.  He  made  a  beautiful 
series  of  pencil  sketches,  which  were  unfortunately  loaned  to 
a  friend  and  burned.  He  was  much  amused  with  the  mixture 
of  barbarism  and  civilization  among  the  Indians,  one  of  whom  he 
found  sitting  with  nothing  on  but  a  silk  stock,  and  an  umbrella. 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year,  1835,  Charles  proposed  to  go  out 
West,  to  engage  in  farming,  and  Seth  decided  to  accompany  him, 
hoping  that  the  change  of  climate  and  the  more  active  life  would 
establish  his  health.  They  went  to  Cincinnati,  and  spent  the 
winter  there,  engaged  in  finding  a  good  location.  Seth  had  been 
interested  in  the  vegetarian  idea,  and  during  the  winter  he  lived 
mainly  upon  bread  and  apples. 

Charles  writes :  — 

"  Seth  and  I  have  been  very  busy  In  looking  out  a  place  to  settle, 
but  among  so  many  good  things  it  is  difficult  to  make  a  choice.  We 
have  not,  however,  lost  anything  by  delay,  for  we  find  places  more 
and  more  desirable,  every  day.  We  are  out  every  pleasant  o!ay,  and 
mostly  travel  on  foot.  We  find  this  the  best  way  to  get  about.  It 
will  prepare  us  to  follow  the  plough  when  the  time  comes." 

His  most  congenial  companion  here  was  Mr.  Beard,  the  painter. 
In  the  spring  of  1836  he  went,  with  his  brother  Charles,  to  Mul- 
berry Grove,  at  Mt.  Healthy,  Hamilton  Co.,  Ohio.    Mrs.  Charles 


WESTERN  LIFE. 


23 


Cheney,  born  Waitstill  Shaw,  of  Providence,  R  I.,  was  a  woman 
of  great  refinement  and  intellect,  as  well  as  both  gentle  and 
lively  in  disposition,  and  Seth  found  great  pleasure  in  her  society. 
Her  letters  give  a  vivid  idea  of  life  in  this  new  country. 

They  found  a  good  house  on  the  place,  and  at  once  settled  there 
to  begin  their  farming.  Seth  took  a  very  active  part  in  all  the 
farm  work.  They  engaged  in  the  business  of  planting  mulberry- 
trees  and  rearing  silkworms,  and  Mrs.  Cheney  speaks  of  the 
house  as  being  full  of  the  worms,  and  of  finding  them  a  great  deal  | 
of  care.  The  mulberries  throve  wonderfully,  however.  Seth's 
health  was  very  poor  during  all  his  Western  life,  though  he  never 
had  the  malarious  fever  and  ague  of  the  country.  He  had  one 
severe  attack  of  sickness,  and  bled  himself  with  a  penknife  ;  the 
bandage  got  displaced,  and  he  came  very  near  bleeding  to  death. 

He  made  a  few  sketches  and  paintings  here,  and  his  nephew, 
then  a  boy  of  five  years  old,  remembers  him  as  working  in  a 
dim,  dingy  room,  with  slices  of  mouldy  brown-bread  to  rub  out 
his  drawings,  and  also  as  getting  the  common  clay  of  the  coun- 
try and  moulding  it  into  various  shapes. 

Among  the  few  pleasant  neighbors  were  the  sister  poetesses, 
Alice  and  Phoebe  Cary,  for  whom  he  always  expressed  much 
admiration  and  regard. 

The  household  was  deeply  saddened  by  the  death  of  two  of 
Charles's  children,  from  the  effects  of  whooping-cough.  Mary 
died,  May  9,  in  Seth's  arms,  and  in  just  one  month  Sarah  fol- 
lowed. Mrs.  Cheney  speaks  of  Seth's  grief  for  the  children,  and 
he  never  forgot  them.  They  were  buried  in  Ohio,  but,  years 
afterwards,  the  bodies  were  removed  to  South  Manchester,  and 
laid  in  the  family  burial-lot.  It  was  found  that  a  vine  had 
grown  into  the  coffin  containing  Mary's  body,  and  completely 
filled  it.  Mrs.  Harriet  Cheney  writes,  1850  :  "When  Seth  was 
told  of  the  vine  shooting  its  roots  downward  into  the  coffin  of  lit- 
tle Mary,  and  forming  a  network  over  her  body,  he  burst  into  tears 
and  sobbed  like  a  child,  saying, '  The  beautiful  vine  took  care  of  the 


24 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


little  one,  and  protected  her  body  from  harm.' "  Mrs.  C.  Cheney 
writes  of  the  children's  death  and  of  Seth's  love  of  them,  and 
adds  :  "  You  must  not  repine  that  Seth  is  not  with  you.  Think 
what  a  comfort  he  has  been  to  us ;  I  know  not  what  we  should 
have  done  without  him.  He  is  infinitely  better  than  last  fall." 
His  mechanical  ingenuity  found  full  scope  in  contrivances  for 
the  comfort  of  the  household.  He  built  with  his  own  hands  the 
reels  for  reeling  the  silk  used  by  the  family,  and  made  churns 
and  nearly  all  the  wooden  ware  which  they  could  not  buy. 

Charles  went  very  extensively  into  the  planting  of  mulberry- 
trees.  He  speaks  of  planting  three  thousand  white-mulberry 
trees,  which  he  bought  at  the  low  price  of  twenty  dollars  a 
thousand,  —  fine,  large,  thrifty  trees.  The  soil  and  climate  suited 
them  well,  and  they  grew  much  faster  and  larger  than  in  New 
England.  Seth  took  his  full  share  in  all  the  farm  work  and 
in  the  household  anxieties,  and  undoubtedly  exhausted  his 
strength  in  this  life  of  labor  with  little  recreation. 

Mrs.  Cheney  writes :  — 

"  Seth  must  not  be  stationary  ;  he  cannot  be,  without  working 
beyond  his  strength.  He  must  be  kept  travelling  for  the  good  of  the 
concern.  I  miss  him  very  much  ;  he  was  so  domestic,  always  at  home, 
and  always  kind  and  obliging.  I  miss  him  daily  about  many  little 
jobs  which  none  could  do  as  well  as  Sep.  Old  Mrs.  H.  says,  '  There 
is  nobody  I  want  to  see  so  much  as  Seth.  When  will  he  come  % 1  and 
so  with  others." 

The  simple  beauty  of  his  character  and  his  rare  power  of  win- 
ning affection  were  fully  shown  here.  Even  now  the  few  old 
neighbors  still  living  at  Mt.  Healthy  remember  him  better  than 
any  of  the  family,  though  they  knew  nothing  of  his  genius  as  an 
artist. 

Charles  writes :  — 

"  How  is  grandmother1?  We  have  her  likeness,  one  of  those  that 
Seth  painted,  —  so  very  like  her,  it  seems  as  though  we  had  her  with 
us.    We  value  it  very  highly,  and  shall  keep  it  for  our  children." 


WESTERN  LIFE. 


25 


His  brother  Push  spent  the  winter  of  1836-37  with  them,  and 
the  silk-raising  went  on  prosperously,  but  the  life  was  lonely  and 
hard.  They  often  made  long  journeys  on  horseback,  but  did  not 
once  go  to  Cincinnati,  though  only  nine  miles  distant,  on  account 
of  the  bad  roads.  Seth  had  little  intercourse  with  the  neigh- 
bors, but  spent  his  Sundays  in  roaming  over  the  fields.  His 
health  did  not  improve,  and  in  September  John  went  out  and 
took  him  on  a  journey  to  the  Upper  Mississippi,  the  Falls  of  St. 
Anthony,  and  the  lakes. 

LETTER  FROM  JOHN  TO  HIS  MOTHER. 

"  Friday  we  rode  into  Cincinnati,  walked  about  a  great  deal,  and 
about  half-way  home  Seth  fatigued  himself,  and  was  not  so  well  the 
next  clay.  He  is  pretty  well  now,  and  I  think  he  might  get  quite  well 
if  he  would  take  proper  care  of  himself ;  but  as  soon  as  he  gets  strength 
enough  to  get  about,  he  immediately  wastes  it  all  by  working  too  hard, 
and  as  long  as  he  is  here,  I  don't  see  how  he  can  avoid  it,  for  there 
seems  a  great  deal  to  be  done,  and  it  makes  him  very  uneasy  to  see  it 
neglected.  I  am  afraid  he  can  never  get  well  if  he  remains  here,  and 
yet  it  seems  as  though  Charles  and  Waitstill  could  not  get  along  with- 
out him,  or  some  of  their  friends  to  stay  with  them.  Waitstill  writes  : 
'  It  would  be  a  hard  trial  to  part  with  him,  even  for  a  short  time,  his 
kindness  has  endeared  him  to  us  so  much.' " 

A  sketch  in  oils  of  Lake  Pepin,  made  on  one  of  these  Western 
trips,  is  in  the  old  clock  at  South  Manchester.  He  was  in  Man- 
chester in  October,  somewhat  improved  in  health,  and  went  in 
November  to  Burlington,  N.  J.,  where  his  brothers  Ward,  Eush,  and 
Frank  were  then  engaged  in  efforts  to  raise  silk,  and  spent  the 
winter  there,  boarding  in  the  village.  It  was  a  very  warm  win- 
ter. He  went  often  to  Philadelphia ;  he  enjoyed  the  society  of 
his  friend  Mr.  Edward  Arnold,  and  his  father,  and  Mr.  Cephas 
Smith.  In  the  summer  he  took,  with  John,  an  excursion  to  the 
beautiful  Delaware  Water  Gap. 


26 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


SILK  CULTURE. 


T  this  time  the  fortunes  of  the  family  had  become  fully  in- 


volved in  the  business  of  silk  culture.  At  first  the  mul- 
berry-trees were  raised  for  the  purpose  of  feeding  the  worms, 
and  thus  procuring  a  supply  of  silk  at  home.  This  subject  had 
engaged  the  attention  of  the  Colonists  even  before  the  Revolution, 
and  Congress  had  offered  bounties  on  the  raising  of  silk.  Con- 
necticut had  taken  an  active  interest  in  the  work.  Charles 
Cheney  engaged  in  the  business  of  rearing  worms  at  Mt.  Healthy, 
Ohio.  Ward,  Rush,  and  Frank  attempted  the  same  thing  in 
Burlington,  N.J.,  and  even  in  Georgia.  But  the  real  demand 
for  trees  for  the  use  of  the  worms  grew  into  a  wild  speculation, 
which  spread  all  over  the  land,  and  the  original  planters  found 
it  more  profitable  to  raise  trees  for  sale  than  to  rear  the  worms 
and  manufacture  the  silk.* 

While  the  Cheneys  entered  into  the  business  of  raising  mul- 
berry-trees for  sale,  they  never  lost  sight  of  the  original  purpose 
of  fostering  the  silk  manufacture  in  America.  Perhaps  even 
now  silk-raising  might  become  a  profitable  branch  of  industry 
in  some  parts  of  America,  if  conducted  by  proper  methods ;  but 
its  culture  requires  an  industrious,  painstaking  agricultural  popu- 
lation, all  of  whom  shall  take  a  share  in  the  work. 

While  Seth  Cheney  never  forgot  his  vocation  as  an  artist,  he 
entered  into  the  plans  of  his  brothers,  and  his  mind  was  for 


*  For  particulars,  see  Brockett's  "Silk  Industry  in.  America,"  and  a  pamphlet 
on  "The  Silk  Industry  of  the  United  States,"  by  A.  T.  Lilly. 


SILK  CULTURE.  27 

some  years  occupied  with  this  subject,  which  had  a  decided 
influence  on  his  life.  One  is  tempted  to  regret  the  time  taken 
from  artistic  studies  ;  yet  he  perhaps  gained  physically  from 
this  more  active  life,  and  certainly,  by  the  close  union  of  inter- 
ests with  his  brothers,  he  not  only  enjoyed  the  richest  blessings 
of  brotherly  love  and  communion,  but,  by  sharing  their  final 
financial  success,  he  was  relieved  from  all  pecuniary  care  when 
his  own  power  of  work  failed.  ISTo  one  cared  less  for  money  for 
its  own  sake  than  he,  —  he  was  always  its  master,  not  its  slave, 
—  but  his  keen  sense  of  independence  and  honor  prevented  him 
from  ever  falling  into  pecuniary  embarrassments  such  as  have 
ruined  the  lives  of  many  artists.  His  simple  tastes  never  led 
him  into  extravagant  habits,  and  he  was  generous  but  not  lavish 
in  his  relations  to  others. 

By  the  desire  of  their  brothers,  and  at  the  expense  of  the 
company,  Seth  and  Frank  went  to  Europe,  in  October,  1837,  to 
purchase  mulberry-trees.  During  the  voyage  he  kept  a  journal, 
and  as  his  brothers  published  a  paper,  called  "The  Silk-Grower," 
he  took  pains  to  send  them  home  valuable  letters  for  it,  and  thus 
we  have  a  fuller  account  of  this  part  of  his  life  in  his  own  words 
than  of  any  other.  I  shall  leave  him,  therefore,  to  speak  for 
himself. 

First  comes  a  memorandum  of  things  to  be  done  in  New  York. 
It  was  a  custom  of  his,  on  going  anywhere,  to  make  a  list  of  all 
he  wished  to  do.  Then  he  was  not  obliged  to  think  of  affairs, 
and  was  left  free  from  care  until  the  time  came  to  attend  to 
them. 

"  I  have  occasionally,  during  the  passage,  noted  down  what  appeared 
worthy. 

"  After  crossing  the  bar  at  Sandy  Hook,  the  pilot  left  us.  Imme- 
diately the  captain  ordered  all  sails  to  be  set.  With  wind  fresh  and 
fair,  we  are  ploughing  the  sea  at  the  rate  of  ten  knots  an  hour.  The 
Highlands  of  Nevesink  are  fast  sinking  beneath  the  horizon,  and  as 


28 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


we  look  towards  the  setting  sun,  'tis  a  long  faint  line  that  slowly  fades 
away,  and  as  night  closes  in,  't  is  gone  perchance  to  us  forever.  To- 
morrow, as  our  eyes  involuntarily  turn  towards  our  country,  they  will 
rest  on  a  wilderness  of  waters. 

"  Just  hefore  sunset  the  passengers  who  had  been  enjoying  them- 
selves on  deck  disappeared  one  by  one,  till  I  found  myself  alone. 
Concluding  that  some  important  business  was  to  be  attended  to,  then  I 
went  down,  and  found  the  table  spread  with  the  most  tempting  viands 
and  wines  of  all  sorts.  One  passenger,  solitary  and  alone,  was  making 
terrible  inroads  on  the  carcass  of  a  roast  turkey  and  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne, as  though  being  at  sea  and  eating  was  no  new  business  to  him. 
As  I  passed  along  near  the  cabin,  strange  sounds  came  from  within 
the  staterooms  on  either  side,  such  as  people  make  sometimes  after 
taking  violent  emetics ;  it  seemed  as  though  some  were  casting  up 
their  very  soles.  I  began  myself  to  feel  queer  about  the  region  of  the 
stomach,  and  made  the  best  of  my  way  to  my  berth,  leaving  the  soli- 
tary passenger  to  finish  his  pudding,  and  wondering  how  it  was  possi- 
ble that  men  should  ever  think  of  eating,  the  very  idea  of  which  was 
sickening  to  me,  absolutely  determined  not  to  commit  such  injury  to 
my  stomach.  Had  not  been  long  in  my  berth  before  the  cook,  the 
black  rascal,  came  asking  if  we  would  have  some  dinner  —  some  soup. 
Oh,  bah!  don't  mention  it  —  don't  talk  to  me  about  soup.  I  never  eat 
soup,  and  never  mean  to  eat  anything  else  after  this.  Soup,  bah  ! 
give  me  the  dish  —  quick  !  quick  !  —  now  go  and  shut  the  door ! 

"  Sunday  morn  rose  glorious  and  cool,  —  one  of  those  smoky 
Indian  summer  days,  with  a  warm  breeze  from  the  Gulf  Stream,  just  a 
studding-sail  breeze.  It  is  a  luxury  to  lie  in  the  sun  on  the  pile  of  cot- 
ton bags,  covered  with  an  old  sail-cloth,  before  the  mainmast,  and  hear 
pigs  squeal  and  the  sheep  bleat  and  the  hens  cackle,  —  equal  to  the 
sunny  side  of  a  hill  in  the  spring,  —  and  then  to  look  off  on  the  broad 
ocean,  its  blue  waves  tinged  with  the  warm  mellow  light  of  an  October 
sun,  blending  sea  and  sky  with  a  rich  golden  tone.*  The  sun  set 
behind  a  dark  shadowy  cloud  which  came  driving  furiously  on,  accom- 
panied with  storms  and  lightning  and  wind  and  rain,  before  which  we 
have  run  for  thirty-six  hours.  Last  night  the  sea  ran  very  high,  the 
wind  having  changed  more  to  the  westward,  driving  before  it  thin, 

*  Frank  talked  about  the  sunny  side  of  a  hill,  and  picking  up  chestnuts  on 
Nebo. 


SILK  CULTURE. 


29 


white  fleecy  clouds,  through  which  the  moon  courageously  shone  clear 
on  the  dark  waves'  breast,  silvering  their  foaming  crests  as  they  rushed 
wildly  along,  relieved  against  the  black  clouds  that  lower  along  the 
horizon. 

"  I  never  saw  one  enjoy  a  voyage  so  much  as  Frank.  He  had  not 
been  on  board  six  hours  before  he  settled  his  accounts  with  old 
Neptune,  and  the  first  morning  ate  his  breakfast  with  as  great  a  zest 
as  he  ever  did  at  home.  Last  night,  as  the  ship  rolled  and  pitched 
incessantly,  when  I  found  it  quite  an  effort  to  keep  in  my  berth,  Frank 
slept  in  his  berth  in  the  same  room,  snoring  continuously  as  a  child 
resting  quietly  in  its  cradle,  while  I  was  counting  the  weary  watches 
of  the  long  night.  How  inestimable  is  health,  that  enables  one  so  easily 
to  conform  to  the  changes  of  place  and  circumstance ! 

"  Our  course  lies  along  the  edge  of  the  Gulf  Stream.  There 
seems  to  be  a  continual  conflict  between  the  winds,  —  one  day  blowing 
steaming  hot  from  the  south,  and  the  next  piercing  cold  from  the 
opposite  direction  ;  and  since  we  left  New  York  we  have  had  a  succes- 
sion of  gales,  which  make  the  voyage  a  very  unpleasant  one  at  this 
late  season,  though  generally  a  quick  one.  We  have  been  out  but 
eight  days,  and  are  far  beyond  the  Banks  of  Newfoundland,  nearly 
half  the  passage  made,  and  shall  probably  be  in  Havre  by  the  1 3th,  — 
at  least,  so  the  captain  says. 

"  After  the  tremendous  blow  of  last  night  had  fairly  subsided,  a 
capsized  long-boat  passed  close  alongside  of  the  ship.  It  might  have 
been  only  washed  by  a  heavy  sea  from  the  deck  of  a  ship,  but  the 
imagination  will  be  busy  picturing  how,  when  all  hope  ,  of  safety  had 
fled  in  that  sinking  ship,  her  fated  crew  had  trusted  in  this  last  frail 
hope,  and  that  too  has  failed,  and  they  have  all  gone  down  and  lie 
amid  the  fearful  wrecks  that  strew  the  slimy  bottom  of  the  deep. 

"  We  have  been  out  now  ten  days.  Still  I  am  sick.  I  never  had 
before  over  three  or  four  days'  sickness.  I  have  not  yet  eaten  a  full 
meal,  or  had  a  night's  rest.  I  am  surprised  that  some  plan  is  not 
devised  for  ventilating  the  cabins  of  ships.  I  am  persuaded  nothing 
would  conduce  more  to  the  health  and  comfort  of  the  passengers. 
While  on  deck  breathing  the  pure  and  free  air  of  the  ocean,  the 
thought  of  going  below  to  inhale  through  the  long  night  the  mouldy 
confined  air  of  the  cabin  is  absolutely  nauseating,  and  nothing  but  the 
cold  and  fatigue  drives  one  to  his  berth.    Some  few,  with  myself, 


30 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


complain,  but  the  majority  are  of  that  unfortunate  class  that  perceive 
no  distinction  between  the  foul  contagions  of  a  dungeon  and  the  free 
air  of  heaven. 

"  These  fishermen  on  the  Banks  of  Newfoundland  have  a  terribly 
hard  life  of  it.  There  goes  one  that  has  been  blown  off  his  fishing- 
ground  by  the  severe  gale  of  last  night.  Little  do  we  think,  when  we 
sit  quietly  in  our  houses  and  eat  codfish  for  our  Saturday's  dinner  and 
Sunday  morning's  breakfast,  of  the  storms  and  perils  the  poor  fisher- 
men encounter  to  procure  for  us  this  luxury. 

"  We  have  breakfast  about  nine  o'clock,  with  fresh  baked  bread, 
buckwheat  cakes,  excellent  coffee,  with  hot  milk,  etc. ;  lunch  or  dejeuner 
a  la  fourchette  between  twelve  and  one ;  and  the  dinner-table  at  four  is 
spread  with  as  great  a  variety  as  that  of  any  hotel  on  shore.  In  a 
small  ice-house  on  deck  are  stowed  away  beef,  mutton,  and  poultry  in 
sufficient  quantity  to  supply  the  table  during  an  ordinary  voyage,  and  no 
encroachments  are  made  on  the  live-stock  of  the  ship  except  in  case  of 
necessity.  There  are  on  board  some  French  sheep  that  have  made  five 
or  six  voyages ;  all  stock  are  said  to  do  poorly  the  first  voyage  except 
geese  and  ducks,  who  delight  in  the  sea.  The  poor  turkeys  make  the 
most  sorry  figure  of  it ;  you  may  see  them  sit  moping  the  livelong  day 
with  half-closed  eyes,  and  the  corners  of  their  mouths  drawn  in,  pout- 
ing disconsolately,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  We  are  gone  turkeys ; '  in  fact, 
they  seem  to  be  lineal  descendants  from  that  celebrated  stock  of  Job's. 
Here  is  the  old  cow,  too ;  how  wistfully  her  eyes  wander  over  the 
waste  of  waters,  as  if  in  search  of  some  green  pastures  !  And  the  way 
those  sheep  would  skip  about  the  sunny  side  of  a  hill  and  the  pigs 
scud  in  my  neighbor's  clover  patch  would  be  a  luxury  to  look  upon, 
indeed.  One  cannot  help  feeling  a  sort  of  sympathy  for  the  dumb 
animals  that  man  has  subjected  and  deprived  of  their  freedom. 

"  This  is  the  thirteenth  day  out ;  for  the  last  five  days  we  have  had  a 
continual  gale  and  squalls  from  the  cold  north,  the  sea  very  rough, 
no  comfort  on  deck  (the  passengers  confine  themselves  to  the  cabin). 
Many  of  them,  like  myself,  are  sick ;  there  are  some  that  have  not 
made  their  appearance  at  table  since  embarking.  Yesterday  it  fell 
dead  away  to  almost  a  calm,  which  induced  all  to  come  on  deck  to 
enjoy  the  morn  and  sunshine,  some  looking  wan  and  woe-begone  from 
protracted  sickness  and  confinement  to  the  close  air  of  the  cabin  and 
long  fasting.    Among  them  you  might  have  seen  a  fellow  about  my 


SILK  CULTURE. 


31 


height,  with  long  locks,  sunken  eyes  and  cheeks,  and  spindle  shanks, 
stalking  about  like  an  atomy  (a  fair  representative  of  Shakespeare's 
apothecary) ;  in  fact,  I  am  wasted  almost  to  a  skeleton,  but  still  am 
free  from  pain,  feel  none  in  my  chest  or  side.  I  expect  the  way  I 
shall  extend  my  dimensions  when  I  get  on  shore  will  be  a  caution  to 
Jack  Falstaff. 

"  There  was  last  night  the  most  splendid  rainbow  spanned  on  a  dark 
cloud  which  I  ever  beheld,  and  I  have  observed  most  glorious  ones  on 
land,  yet  I  never  saw  one  in  which  the  colors  appeared  so  distinct  and 
vivid.  The  sun  was  low,  which  raised  the  arc  very  high  in  the  heavens, 
relieved  with  dazzling  brightness  from  the  dusky  red  clouds  piled  up  in 
vast  volumes  still  higher,  —  they  alone,  independent  of  the  arc,  present- 
ing a  sublime  spectacle  ;  and  where  the  bow  touched  the  water  there 
was  a  mingling  of  a  thousand  tints  which  you  might  trace  even  close 
to  the  side  of  the  ship,  so  that  to  one  standing  at  the  mast-head  it  must 
have  appeared  a  complete  circle  of  the  most  brilliant  colors.  The 
white  sea-gulls  were  flying  high  and  wildly,  and  the  porpoises  playing 
their  frantic  gambols  below,  all  betokening  a  coming  storm,  which 
reached  us  soon  after  dark.  In  a  twinkling  the  foresail  was  gone,  and 
the  ship  crooning  low  in  the  water,  scudding  swiftly  to  the  westward. 

"To-night  one  of  the  steerage  passengers  they  called  'the  old 
soldier '  died.  He  had  not  spoken  for  a  day  or  two,  and  this  morning 
the  mate  informed  us  that  from  the  rattling  in  his  throat  and  short 
breathing  he  would  not  probably  survive  the  day.  On  inquiry  it 
appears  that  he  has  been  in  the  service  of  Napoleon,  and  has  been  to 
America  in  search  of  his  son,  who  has  long  been  absent.  After  long 
seeking,  at  last  despairing  of  finding  him,  the  heart  that  quaked  not 
for  the  snow  and  fire  of  Moscow  or  the  wild  huzza  of  the  Cossack,  nor 
at  Waterloo,  sank  under  him  when  this  last  tie  that  bound  him  to  life 
was  broken  ;  the  old  soldier  returning  desolate  and  alone  to  his  coun- 
try —  home  probably  he  had  none  —  when  death  came  to  his  relief. 

"  The  first  two  weeks  pass  off  quickly  at  sea ;  but  after  this  one 
begins  to  count  the  days,  and  now  we  have  been  out  twenty-four  days, 
with  a  head  wind  for  the  last  nine.  Even  the  hours  begin  to  hang 
heavily ;  one  becomes  tired  of  everything  about  the  ship ;  to  fix  his 
mind  on  a  book  is  a  thing  impossible  ;  reads  a  page,  then  throws  it 
down  and  goes  on  deck  and  looks  to  windward  ;  finds  no  consola- 
tion there,  takes  a  few  turns  back  and  forward  on  the  deck,  meets  the 


32 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


mate,  asks  him  what 's  the  prospect,  thinks  we  '11  have  a  fine  wind  in 
the  course  of  a  week ;  says  no  more  to  him,  but  goes  and  sits  in  cabin  ; 
waits  impatiently  for  the  lunch  bell  to  ring,  not  because  he  feels  the 
least  sign  of  an  appetite,  but  wants  something  to  do.  After  lunch 
comes  the  poser,  What  is  to  be  done  with  four  long  hours  to  dinner  1 
Again  goes  on  deck,  and  scans  every  cloud  in  the  heavens ;  goes  below, 
takes  his  book j  after  reading  a  dozen  pages  turns  back  to  where  he 
began,  having  lost  the  thread  of  the  story  by  dreaming  of  what  a 
glorious  time  he  will  have  when  he  gets  on  land,  while  he  was  reading. 
After  dinner,  probably  on  champagne  days  he  feels  pretty  well  satisfied 
with  himself  and  all  about  him,  and  cares  not  which  way  the  wind 
blows,  assured  that  it  blows  somebody  good ;  then,  as  he  lies  sleepless 
in  his  berth,  hears  the  timbers  grate  the  same  tune  at  every  roll  of 
the  ship,  and  tramp,  tramp  of  the  watch  over  his  head,  and  the  bell 
every  half-hour  counting  the  watches  of  the  night,  or  falls  into  a 
broken  sleep  and  dreams  the  ship  is  sinking,* and  is  waked  by  the  ship 
making  a  lurch  and  nearly  throwing  him  from  the  berth,  and  hears  the 
pumps  going ;  steward  comes  in  the  morning  with  water,  tells  him  the 
wind  has  increased  and  blows  a  gale  dead  ahead,  lying  to  under  close- 
reefed  topsails.  This  is  too  much  j  turns  over  and  groans,  and  tries  to 
get  another  snooze. 

"  A  land  bird  flew  on  board  exhausted,  and  was  caught  by  the  mate. 
None  of  our  company  were  ornithologists  enough  to  tell  us  what  class 
he  belongs  to ;  he  looks  much  like  our  own  snipe.  We  are  only 
one  thousand  miles  from  land,  and  the  poor  thing  must  have  had  a 
weary  journey  of  it.  It  has  blown  strong  from  the  east  for  a  week. 
It  is  probably  a  migratory  bird  seeking  some  southern  clime,  and 
would  no  doubt  have  perished  in  the  ocean.  The  'matter  of  this  letter 
upon  firm  land  may  seem  trifling,  but  after  one  has  been  long  at  sea, 
the  slightest  token  from  terra  firma  never  fails  to  touch  the  most  insen- 
sible ;  he  stands  for  hours  watching  a  sail  as  it  slowly  rises  and  skims 
along. 

"  We  came  on  soundings  yesterday.  We  had  no  observation  during* 
the  last  ten  days  on  account  of  the  thick  weather,  and  the  uncertainty 
of  our  position  renders  it  extremely  unsafe  running,  and  last  night  the 
wind  hauled  to  the  southeast  and  blew  a  gale.  Fearing  we  should  not 
be  able  to  weather  the  Scilly  Islands,  stood  off  this  morning.  As 
we  approach  land  every  one  feels  that  the  danger  of  the  voyage  is  just 


SILK  CULTURE. 


33 


here,  particularly  at  this  stormy  season  in  the  English  Channel. 
Mynheer  looks  still  more  long-faced,  and  takes  longer  puffs  at  his 
pipe,  and  swears  by  d under  and  blitzen  he  will  hail  the  first  pilot  boat 
he  sees,  and  go  ashore  on  the  English  coast. 

"  Our  Yankee  shows  to  the  best  advantage  at  table.  No  sooner 
is  he  seated  than  frightful  inroads  are  made  on  the  contents  of  every 
dish  within  reach,  which  he  transfers  to  his  own  plate,  and  as  quickly 
disposes  of ;  then  commences  calling  on  the  steward  for  what  is  at 
this  and  that  end  of  the  table  :  nothing  escapes  his  inevitable  appetite. 
After  seeing  him  eat  his  breakfast,  stowing  away  chicken  legs  with 
ham  and  eggs  and  sausages,  not  to  mention  buckwheat  cakes  or  mush 
and  molasses,  filling  up  the  chinks  with  four  and  a  half  cups  of 
coffee,  you  would  say  he  eats  no  more  to-day ;  but  to  see  him  enjoy 
his  lunch  would  satisfy  your  own  appetite,  and  then  at  dinner  we 
shall  certainly  be  put  on  an  allowance.  I  hope  we  shall  have  a  short 
passage.  As  he  sat  one  day  reading  in  the  round  house,  the  old  Ger- 
man says  to  him,  1  You  "have  von  grand  appetite  for  reading.'  Jona- 
than was  a  little  piqued  at  what  he  understood  to  be  a  reflection  upon 
his  eating  propensity;  he  guessed  that  he  had  pretty  considerable  of  a 
decent  sort  of  an  appetite.  '  0,  you  no  understan  me  ;  I  mean  you  have 
one  grand  desire  to  read  your  book  always/ 

"  There  is  a  variety  amongst  our  passengers.  We  have  Yankees, 
Germans,  French,  and  Swiss.  The  old  German  is  always  grumbling  ;  I 
never  saw  his  long  features  drawn  up  to  anything  approaching  a  smile, 
forever  fretting,  smoking,  and  often  relating  doleful  accounts  of  his 
travels  in  America  ;  how  he  once  engaged  in  a  coach  which  was  to 
carry  four  passengers,  but  '  when  we  have  den  place,  there  be  four 
women  extra  and  three  chilens.  Mine  Got,  dis  be  too  bad ;  I  no  stand 
dis.  I  have  mine  luggage  taken  right  out,  and  I  go  hire  von  extra/ 
When  we  talk  of  a  short  passage  he  shrugs  his  shoulders  and  says, 
'  I  make  no  short  passages.  I  was  forty-two  days  in  den  North  Sea  ; 
dat  be  horrible.  I  was  been  nineteen  day  off  den  West  Indies.'  Our 
little  Frenchman  is  a  complete  personification  of  the  French  charac- 
ter of  society  ;  nothing  puts  him  out  of  humor,  —  blow  high  or  low, 
rain  or  shine,  c'est  egal  to  him ;  he  smokes  his  cigar  and  enjoys  his 
dinner  in  spite  of  commotion,  and  jokes  the  old  German,  who  sits 
next  him  at  the  table,  who  all  the  while  looks  glum.  They  some- 
times have  hot  disputes  over  their  wine,  their  sectional  prejudices 

3 


34 


MEM01K  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


clashing  often.  It  is  most  amusing  to  observe  the  contrast  between 
the  two  characters. 

"  Land  ho !  It  cleared  up  this  morning,  and  about  two  o'clock 
came  in  sight  of  Scilly  Isles,  and  as  we  have  a  cracking  breeze  from 
the  west,  with  sunshine,  which  we  have  not  seen  for  many  days, 
everybody  is  on  deck,  looking  cheerful  and  in  good  spirits,  enjoying  the 
line  prospect,  anticipating  a  speedy  deliverance  from  the  long  confine- 
ment. Even  the  sailors  seem  to  run  up  the  rigging  with  much  greater 
alacrity  than  usual.    In  fact,  everything  is  in  the  best  of  humor. 

"  Thirty-second  day  at  sea.  The  breeze  lasted  but  twelve  hours, 
when  it  hauled  to  the  southeast,  by  which  we  made  Eddystone. 

"  I  think  I  left  off  in  giving  you  some  idea  of  the  characters  of  our 
company  on  board,  —  of  our  Yankee  John  Bull,  who  considers  him- 
self a  British  subject  because  his  father  lives  in  England.  He 
despises  everything  American  merely  because  it  is  so.  If  he  happens 
to  spy  a  fine  ship,  '  Ah  !  that  is  an  English  ship  ! '  and  maintains  his 
opinions  most  obstinately.  At  table  he  makes  frequent  attempts  to  be 
witty,  and  laughs  at  his  own  jokes,  in  which  he  is  joined  by  his  wife, 
wTho  seems  just  transferred  from  boarding-school,  and  lisps  French, 
and  works  lace,  and  strings  beads,  and  other  necessary  accomplishments 
which,  in  these  wiser  times  and  this  age  of  improvement,  are  found 
requisite  to  constitute  a  class  of  beings  which  were  in  the  olden  time 
called  women  and  the  better  half  of  creation,  but  are  now  distin- 
guished by  the  cognomen  of  ladies,  but  to  see  whom  has  much  the 
same  effect  on  one's  stomach  as  a  heavy  sea.  They  go  to  make  the 
tour  of  Europe. 

"  The  old  maid  is  a  rare  specimen.  She  has  a  most  queer  twist  to 
her  mouth,  and  there  is  a  most  exquisite  touch  about  every  action. 
When  she  is  skipping  about  on  deck  you  will  see  the  sailors  casting 
unutterable  glances  at  each  other.  She  is  withal  a  critic,  and  has  long 
discussions  with  the  passengers  about  the  merits  of  certain  authors ; 
thinks  W.  Irving  a  fine  writer,  but  a  pity  that  one  who  can  write  so 
well  should  spend  his  mind  on  such  trifling  subjects ;  thinks  the 
'  Wife '  a  very  nice  piece. 

"  Mrs.  ,  the  preacher's  wife,  poor  woman,  has  a  sorry  time  of 

it.  She  has  never  once  made  her  appearance  at  table  during  the 
voyage.  It  is  indeed  melancholy  to  look  upon  her  pale  and  worn 
features,  as  she  occasionally  comes  up  on  deck  in  a  fair  day  (which,  by  the 


SILK  CULTURE. 


35 


way,  is  not  often),  about  which  plays  a  most  attractive  sweetness,  that 
excites  the  sympathy  of  all  for  her  suffering.  She  accompanies  her 
husband,  who,  in  laboring  to  save  the  souls  of  other  men,  forgot  that 
himself  had  a  body  of  his  own  to  save,  and  follows  the  track  of  the 
mass  of  his  profession,  who  annually  leave  the  country  to  seek  in 
foreign  climes  the  health  they  have  neglected  and  lost,  —  the  greatest 
of  all  blessings. 

"  The  wind  increasing  to  a  gale  towards  morning,  were  unable  to 
weather  the  land  beyond  Eddystone  j  again  stood  off.  During  the 
night  the  wind  hauled  dead  ahead,  and  here  we  are,  within  twelve 
hours'  sail  of  port,  rolling  and  tumbling  about,  now  on  the  starboard 
tack,  now  on  the  larboard,  gaining  nothing,  with  no  prospect  of  a 
change.  The  barometer  set  fair ;  the  easterly  winds  here  bring  fair 
weather,  like  our  westerly.  Mynheer  begins  to  lose  patience,  and 
swears  by  dunder  and  blitzen  he  will  hail  the  first  pilot-boat  and  go 
ashore.  If  the  wind  holds  in  the  same  quarter  for  many  days  longer, 
we  shall  probably  put  in  to  some  harbor  on  the  English  coast,  and 
wait  for  a  fair  wind. 

"  On  the  night  of  the  32d  we  encountered  the  severest  gale  of  all, 
off  Portland  lights,  from  the  southeast.  What  a  midnight !  When  in 
the  height  of  the  storm,  it  was  necessary  to  wear  ship  (to  get  clear  of 
land;  the  wind  was  dead  on  shore).  In  bringing  her  round  the  ropes 
attached  to  the  rudder  gave  way,  when  she  struck  aback,  bearing  down 
her  stern  and  raising  the  waves  above  her  stern  windows,  and  stove 
them  in,  and  the  water  came  rushing  into  the  cabin,  and  ran  forward 
as  far  as  the  ladies'  cabin ;  the  door  was  fortunately  closed,  or  we 
should  probably  have  had  a  scene ;  and  then,  as  the  ship  rolled,  ran  aft 
on  the  other  side.  Our  berths  being  amidship,  and  beyond  the  ladies' 
cabin,  escaped  the  general  deluge. 

"  It  is  my  fate  to  make  hard  passages  across  the  Atlantic.  We  are  on 
the  thirty-fourth  day  from  New  York,  —  head  winds  for  the  last  nine- 
teen, —  what  we  have  gained  has  been  by  hard  beating.  We  run  last 
night  for  a  few  hours  with  a  fair  wind ;  had  it  continued  at  that  rate  we 
should  have  been  in  port  this  afternoon,  instead  of  which,  early  this 
morning,  it  again  changed,  and  has  since  blown  so,  that  we  only  carry 
just  sail  enough  to  steady  the  ship,  making  no  headway,  but  drifting 
towards  the  English  coast. 

"  Thirty-fifth  day.    Last  night  we  had  again  a  fair  wind,  which  came 


36 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


so  suddenly  and  blew  so  tremendously  that  it  was  impossible  to  run 
by  till  ten  o'clock  this  morning,  when  the  wind  again  began  to  haul  to 
the  eastward.  We  set  sail  to  make  Cape  de  la  Hague,  which  rises,  like 
the  Palisades,  in  the  mist ;  but  this  morning  found  ourselves  about  six 
leagues  to  the  eastward  of  the  Cape,  from  which  the  wind  blew  a  gale, 
with  rain  in  torrents.  Fortunately  we  obtained  a  pilot  this  morning,  — 
a  hardy,  broad-shouldered,  weather-beaten  pilot,  with  rings  in  his  ears, 
(who  ever  saw  one  without  1)  who  understands  the  sea-language  of  all 
countries.  The  pilot  informs  us  that  the  Island  Sun,  which  sailed 
from  New  York  eight  days  before  us,  has  been  in  port  twenty,  and 
that  the  easterly  winds  have  prevailed  for  about  a  month. 

"This  is,  we  hope,  the  last  night  we  shall  have  to  pass  on  board  ship. 
Two  hours  ago  we  were  lying  to  in  the  most  furious  gale  we  have  yet 
had.  Now  the  sky  has  cleared  and  the  wind  died  away  to  a  gentle 
breeze.  The  full  moon  shines  out  gloriously,  and  away  in  the  distance 
under  her  lies  Cape  de  la  Hague,  with  her  glittering  lights  like  stars, 
towards  which  we  gently  turn  our  course,  and  by  to-morrow  anticipate 
being  in  the  port  for  which  we  have  made  so  long  and  weary  a  passage. 

" Nous  voila  in  Havre!  Going  on  deck  this  morning,  we  found  our- 
selves entering  the  dock  at  Havre,  —  passengers  dressed  in  their  best 
suits,  shaved,  and  faces  washed  clean  for  the  first  time  since  coming 
on  board  ;  the  old  maid  and  the  wife  came  out  in  glowing  colors. 
Nothing  appears  more  ridiculous  than  this  attempt  of  our  country- 
women at  show  in  foreign  countries,  for  here  out-of-doors  one  never 
sees  any  finery,  but  all  plainly  dressed. 

"November  30.  — We  had  no  sooner  hauled  up  to  the  wharf  than  the 
gens  oVarmes  came  on  board  for  our  passports,  and  porters  from  the 
custom-house  for  our  baggage,  which  they  piled  on  deck,  and  con- 
veyed to  the  custom-house.  Meantime  we  went  in  search  of  a  hotel, 
after  which  we  went  to  the  custom-house  to  unlock  our  trunks,  to  be 
subjected  to  what  most  travellers  make  a  great  fuss  about,  but  by 
which  I  have  never  been  much  annoyed.  If  travellers  attempt  to  pass 
what  the  laws  of  a  country  prohibit,  what  can  they  expect  but  hin- 
drance 1  I  think  you  will  find  that  all  this  noise  about  custom-house 
insolence  is  made  by  those  who  attempt  to  infringe  the  laws,  and  to 
pass  what  they  know  is  prohibited  a  free  passage. 

"  We  stop  at  the  hotel  de  N.  York  on  the  quai,  and  enjoy  once  more 
the  luxury  of  lying  quietly  in  bed,  after  being  tossed  thirty-five  days 


SILK  CULTURE. 


37 


on  the  restless  "billow,  and  eating  our  dinner  without  the  fear  of  being 
drowned  in  soup  and  gravy.  We  found  it  necessary  to  get  passports 
of  the  American  Consul ;  these  we  carry  to  the  police,  and  they  give 
one  for  the  interior  of  France.  The  Consul  charges  two  dollars  and 
the  police  two  francs. 

"  We  now  took  a  walk  about  the  walls  and  ramparts  of  this  ancient 
city  of  Havre,  the  day  being  very  fine  and  warm.  We  were  surprised 
at  seeing  the  number  of  steamboats  plying  between  this  and  Bour- 
deaux,  Caen,  Hamburg,  Southampton,  Dublin,  London,  and  many 
other  places.  They  have  not  the  elegant  appearance  of  our  boats,  but 
are  built  much  stronger,  painted  of  a  dark  color,  and  the  machinery  is 
all  below.  They  seem  to  be  constructed  by  those  who  consider  life 
and  safety  of  greater  importance  than  speed  and  elegance,  —  a  perfect 
contrast  to  the  frail  barks  to  which  so  many  of  our  countrymen  have 
trusted  and  lost.  Among  the  vast  number  of  sail  from  all  quarters  of 
the  world,  there  was  but  one  American  ship  besides  our  own.  This  is 
remarked  by  the  papers  as  a  circumstance  that  has  not  occurred  since 
the  peace.  In  the  market-place  fell  in  with  an  old  man  surrounded 
with  a  great  quantity  of  trees  j  inquired,  of  course,  if  he  had  any  mul- 
berry, —  had  none,  and  there  were  none  about  here. 

***** 

"  December  1.  — We  took  passage,  at  ten  a.m.,  in  the  coupe  of  the  dili- 
gence for  Rouen.  The  day  is  warm,  the  air  is  soft  and  moist  like  May 
in  our  country.  One  is  apt  to  associate  the  idea  of  a  diligence  and 
slowness  together,  but  nothing  is  more  incorrect.  With  seven  and 
sometimes  nine  horses,  without  sparing  the  lash,  they  rumble  on  with 
a  speed  over  their  paved  roads  that  would  soon  leave  behind  the  best 
of  our  stages,  carrying,  as  they  often  do,  thirty-two  passengers,  with 
their  baggage  piled  high  on  the  top  of  the  carriage." 

Paris. 

Frank  went  out  about  twelve  this  morning,  and  promised  to  return  at 
five  ;  it  is  now  six,  and  no  Frank  has  come.  What  can  have  become  of 
him  ]  I  fear  very  much  he  has  lost  his  way  ;  he  has  no  passport  with 
him,  can  speak  no  French,  may  get  into  difficulty.  It  is  now  eight.  I 
have  sat  in  my  own  room  since  five,  and  you  may  imagine  with  what 
feelings  I  hear  every  knock  at  the  front  door,  and  say  to  myself,  "  There 
he  comes."  Hear  steps  on  the  stairs  coming  nearer  and  nearer.  I  think 
the  door  will  open,  but  a  stranger  passes  on  to  the .  next,  humming  an 


38 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


air  to  himself,  happy.  I  wait ;  another  comes  in  below,  steps  slowly 
up  one  step  after  the  other  —  ah !  that  must  be  Frank,  tired  out  —  now 
he  goes  in  the  room,  and    .    .  . 

The  last  you  saw  of  us  was  watching  the  little  cottage  girl  going  to 
•  market,  whom  we  soon  lost  sight  of  down  a  winding  hedged  lane,  the 

diligence  rumbling  on  with  a  speed  which  would  leave  the  best  of  our 
stages  far  in  the  rear.  The  road  from  here  to  Rouen  is  one  of  the  finest 
made  roads  I  ever  saw,  and  kept  in  the  most  perfect  order  by  work- 
men whose  business  it  is  to  repair  the  least  defect  as  soon  as  it  appears. 
The  neglect  of  this  is  the  reason  why  our  stone  roads  are  ruined  in  so 
short  a  time.  The  road  each  side  is  lined  with  a  row  of  apple-trees. 
The  face  of  the  country  is  much  like  Lancaster  County,  Penn.,  with 
every  inch  highly  cultivated.  There  are  no  fences,  but  you  see  no 
division  except  those  made  by  the  color  of  the  different  species  of  vege- 
tation, the  cattle  being  attended  by  the  herdsmen.  We  observed 
immense  fields  of  turnips  for  feeding  sheep  in  winter.  Wheat  appears 
to  be  the  principal  grain  that  is  raised  in  this  region ;  corn,  of  course, 
you  never  see,  a  field  of  corn  being  only  known  here  as  "ble  de 
Turquie,"  and  very  rare  and  dear.  By  the  way,  how  is  it  that  the 
French  bread  is  so  much  better  than  ours  1  Is  it  in  the  making  or  in 
the  wheat  itself?  I  will  send  you  a  barrel  of  French  flour,  that  this 
problem  may  be  solved. 

I  am  enraptured  with  these  old  thatched  cottages.  Frank  says, 
"  How  ridiculous  to  talk  about  New  England  cottages,  —  a  square-built 
house,  painted  white,  stuck  on  a  high  hill,  with  a  peaked  fence  about 
it,  with  not  a  solitary  tree  to  protect  it  from  scorching  sunshine ! 
Contrast  it  with  that  snug  retreat  in  that  copse  yonder,  with  its  over- 
hanging roof  covered  with  a  complete  mat  of  the  greenest  moss,  and 
over  the  door  the  vine,  hedged  about  with  roses,  and  overshadowed 
with  the  old  oaks  and  elms  that  have  stood  and  will  stand  for  ages.  If 
you  ever  build  a  house  take  a  lesson  from  one  of  these."  We  were  sur- 
prised to  see  the  quantity  of  produce  and  merchandise  of  all  sorts 
transported  on  the  road  on  the  most  clumsy  carriages  you  can  imagine, 
with  but  two  wheels,  some  eight  or  ten.  The  mystery  is  how  one  horse 
can  guide  such  an  immense  load, — the  harness  alone  seems  load  enough 
for  one  horse,  —  then  before  him  he  has  nine  or  ten  a  la  tandem. 

We  arrived  in  Rouen  about  sunset,  and  the  next  day,  Sunday,  con- 
cluded to  stay  and  view  the  old  Cathedral  and  other  buildings,  for 


SiLK  CULTURE. 


39 


which  the  old  city  is  so  famous.  The  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame  is  one 
of  the  largest  and  most  beautiful  in  France.  The  foundation  was  laid 
in  the  year  1100.  One  of  the  towers  which  is  upon  the  rear  part  of 
the  church  was  destroyed  by  lightning  in  1822.  It  has  been  since 
restored  in  cast-iron,  and  is  about  five  hundred  feet  in  height,  said  to 
be  the  highest  monument  in  the  world. 

Our  fathers  built  the  church  of  pine  boards  ;  the  fashion  changes, 
pull  them  down,  —  obliterate  all  marks  of  the  places  where  our  ancestors 
worshipped,  destroying  the  altars  and  making  others  of  the  constituent 
materials.  There  is  even  fashion  about  the  form  of  our  prayers,  which 
we  read  kneeling  on  a  cushioned  stool.  This  altar  has  stood  for  a 
thousand  years  j*  here,  upon  the  same  cold  marble,  the  millions  of  past 
generations  have  knelt,  and  at  the  same  shrine  offered  up  the  same 
solemn  mass  that  many  hundred  years  ago  echoed  through  these  high 
vaulted  arches,  and  still  vibrates  through  the  long,  dim  aisles. 

Next  follow  directions  in  regard  to  making  beet  sugar,  hardly 
intelligible  or  interesting  to  us  now,  but  as  showing  his  attention 
to  the  subject. 

From  his  accounts  we  may  gather  his  style  of  living  during 
this  journey.  I  add  a  few  items  which  show  his  temperate 
expense :  — 

Fr  c. 

Dinner  at  restaurant     .    2    2  =  42  cents. 
Cafe  au  lait     .    .    .    .    0  13 

Dinner  2  00 

Chapeau   15  00  =  $3.00. 

Dinner  3  12 

This  is  the  highest  charge  I  find  for  dinner,  but  250  francs  for 
Cours  th^orique  et  pratique  de  fabrication  de  sucre  idigene, 
9  for  the  opera,  often  5  or  8  to  the  garc,on,  and  liberal  artistic 
payments.    He  knew  how  to  spend  for  his  genius. 

A  separate  account  is  headed  "  Private  Expenses."  His  ex- 
penses were  paid  by  the  parties  engaged  in  the  mulberry 
speculation. 


*  A  slight  exaggeration.    The  church  was  built  in  the  thirteenth  century. 


40 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


Rouen. 

One  is  struck  with  awe  on  entering  in  the  night  one  of  these  vast 
buildings,  lighted  below  with  a  few  dim  tapers  that  "  make  darkness 
visible  "  ;  and  the  height  of  the  massive  pillars  that  support  the  lofty 
arches  seem  interminable,  and  the  solemn  dirge  chanted  by  the  choir 
seems  still  more  unearthly  as  it  floats  upward  and  dies  away  in  the 
obscurity. 

We  ascended  Mount  St.  Catherine,  from  which  there  is  one  of  the 
finest  views  in  the  world.  I  recollected  going  up  with  John  when  we 
were  here  four  years  ago.  We  gained  the  summit  just  as  the  sun  was 
setting,  and  sat  down  among  the  ruined  towers  and  fortifications  that 
were  made  by  the  Roman  army  under  Julius  Csesar.  'T  was  summer 
time,  and  all  nature  was  clothed  in  the  richest  green.  Below  the  Seine 
wound  along,  spotted  with  its  numberless  little  islands,  and  before  us 
that  wide  valley  bounded  by  those  gently  undulating  hills  that  confine 
that  beautiful  river.  At  the  right  lay  the  ancient  city  of  Eouen,  its 
lofty  trees  and  spires  seeming  to  rise  even  higher  than  the  mountain 
itself.  Over  all  the  setting  sun  poured  a  flood  of  golden  light.  After 
visiting  the  fountain  erected  over  the  place  where  Joan  d'Arc  was 
burned,  and  the  gallery  of  paintings,  we  took  passage  in  the  evening 
for  Paris,  as  we  could  find  no  diligence  that  left  in  the  morning, —  a  cir- 
cumstance which  we  did  not  afterwards  regret,  for  it  was  a  glorious 
moonshine,  the  air  was  soft  and  balmy,  and  we  never  felt  more  like 
enjoying  ourselves.  Arrived  in  Paris  early  next  morning,  left  Frank  at 
the  diligence  office  while  I  went  in  search  of  lodgings.  Went  first  to 
Mad.  Bell's,  near  the  Boulevard,  where  John  and  I  had  stopped  before, 
but  could  get  no  room  there.  She  recommended  me  to  a  hotel  in  Rue 
Monsigny,  No.  5,  about  the  same  distance  from  the  Boulevard,  and  a 
place  we  like  very  much.  The  weather  has  been  fine  since  we  arrived 
here,  with  very  little  rain,  which  is  uncommon  at  this  season. 

Paris,  Dec.  22. 

Ward  and  Push,  — In  your  last  letter  you  directed  us  to  procure 
mulberry-trees  to  an  indefinite  amount,  provided  they  could  be 
obtained  at  a  cheap  rate.  We  went  immediately  to  Versailles,  and 
found  a  very  fine  lot  that  Mons.  Remont  had  reserved  for  his  own 
planting  the  coming  season,  —  some  of  them  were  seven  feet  in  height, 
and  very  ripe  ;  to  get  them  we  were  obliged  to  take  some  15,000  of 


SILK  CULTURE. 


41 


the  moretti,  which  here  are  considered  superior  to  the  multicaulis,  of 
which  there  were  30,000  ;  these,  with  the  15,000  multicaulis,  we  had 
already  engaged,  and  a  few  of  the  moretti  he  was  to  let  us  have,  and 
delivered  in  Paris,  for  the  sum  of  31,000  francs  (the  number  of  trees 
in  all  amounting  to  65,000),  were  all  w.ell  packed,  and  a  part  of  them 
on  the  road  to  Paris,  when  Mons.  Remont  discovered  that  we  had  (by 
my  bad  French)  misunderstood  each  other  in  regard  to  money  affairs, 
he  supposing  we  had  the  whole  amount  deposited  at  Wells,  when  we 
had  only  9,000  francs,  or  that  Wells  would  guarantee  the  payment  of 
the  debt.  Upon  this  he  refused  to  deliver  the  trees,  of  course,  except 
what  had  already  arrived  in  Paris,  for  which  I  gave  him  a  draft  for 
8,000  francs,  and  he  has  trusted  me  for  2,000  francs  for  forty  days,  as 
I  have  promised  him  we  shall  have  funds  before  that  time ;  he  only 
wanted  the  guarantee  of  Wells  for  six  months  even.  I  am  sorry  you 
have  not  put  us  in  the  way  of  obtaining  funds  on  credit,  for  in  a 
strange  country  you  cannot  suppose  we  can  succeed  without  them. 
Remont  has  promised  to  reserve  the  trees  for  us  a  short  time,  but  as 
they  are  rising  in  value  on  account  of  the  demand  for  them  in  our 
country,  cannot  depend  on  him  long.  If  you  have  sent  funds  by  the 
Liverpool,  from  which  we  expect  news  to-morrow  or  next  day,  the 
trees  are  yours.  Those  we  have  started  are  on  the  road  to  Havre,  and 
will  go  in  the  Louis  Philippe  packet  of  the  1st  of  January.  I  am 
very  sorry  they  could  not  have  all  gone  together ;  they  may  still. 

Tear  off  this  and  send  to  Burlington.  Sep. 
Mr.  John  Cheney,  Philadelphia. 

As  I  have  told  you  before,  we  had  purchased  in  December  45,000 
Morus  multicaulis  of  M.  Remont  of  Versailles,  but  on  account  of  some 
misunderstanding  in  regard  to  the  payment,  he  refused  to  deliver  them 
all  at  that  time  ;  15,000,  however,  with  4,000  moretti,  were  delivered, 
for  which  I  gave  him  drafts  on  Wells  &  Co.,  payable  on  the  30th  of 
January,  being  morally  certain  (from  what  Rush  had  written  advising 
us  to  buy  trees,  and  you  would  send  the  money)  of  receiving  funds 
before  that  time.  If  we  do  not  (which  I  very  much  fear  now,  from 
what  I  wrote  by  the  Royal  William,  that  the  prospect  of  getting  trees 
here  was  not  promising),  we  shall  soon  be  short,  and  must  commence 
to  live  on  six  sous  a  day,  as  the  soldiers  do. 

Those  15,000  and  4,000  have  gone  by  the  Louis  Philippe  packet 


42 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


of  the  1st  of  January,  but  she  did  not  sail  till  the  16th.  They  were 
consigned  to  Gracie  &  Sergeant,  where  we  purchased  the  bill  in  New 
York.  Perhaps  I  have  not  done  right  in  directing  them  so,  but  when 
they  arrive  you  will  of  course  go  to  New  York  and  attend  to  them. 
There  are  nine  boxes  and  one ,  bale  partly  wrapped  in  wicker  work, 
marked  S.  W.  10  C.  E.  C.  9. 

M.  Eemont  has  still  in  reserve  for  us  the  rest  of  the  trees,  and 
called  on  us  yesterday  and  said  that  he  was  ready  to  pack  and  (ship) 
them  to  Havre  immediately,  besides  offering  20,000  more  small  ones. 
From  some  cause  he  all  at  once  has  confidence  in  us ;  he  is  now  pack- 
ing, and  will  have  them  ready  by  the  1st  of  February,  but  to  pay  the 
freight  to  Havre  will  take  the  last  sous  we  have.  We  wait  most  impa- 
tiently for  means  to  fulfil  our  engagements,  and  if  none  come  within 

ten  days  shall  be  in   .    We  shall  want  about  $6,000.    We  can 

probably  find  some  more  trees  before  spring,  but  shall  not  engage  any 
more  till  we  hear  from  you. 

Paine  has  bought  and  sent  home  a  good  many  trees ;  his  agent  has 
been  all  over  France.    Dr.  Knox  has  been  here  all  winter. 

Messrs.  Ward  Cheney  &  Bros., 
Burlington,  N.  J.,  1839. 

Paris,  Jan.  24,  1839. 
We  are  attending  a  course  of  lectures  on  the  theory  and  practice 
of  the  fabrication  of  sugar  from  the  beet,  given  by  M.  Gautier,  inventor 
of  a  new  method  of  extracting  the  sugar,  or  rather  the  juice  of  the  beet, 
without  pressure.  This  is  the  third  course  he  has  given.  They  come 
from  all  quarters  here  to  get  instruction ;  at  present  there  are  some 
thirty  or  forty  attending,  from  Belgium,  Russia,  Cuba,  the  United 
States,  etc.  His  plan  is  being  adopted  everywhere  on  account  of  the 
simplicity  of  the  process  and  the  increased  product,  besides  a  great 
reduction  in  the  expense  of  machinery  and  labor.  We  are  allowed 
admission  every  day  for  one  month  to  the  manufactory,  and  may  see 
every  part  of  the  process  in  every  particular.  When  we  are  a  little 
further  advanced  shall  give  you  an  account  of  it.  We  shall  learn  more 
here  than  we  could  by  visiting  every  establishment  of  the  kind  in 
France,  because  here  we  gain  a  practical  knowledge.  We  shall  send 
some  of  the  best  beet  seed,  of  the  most  approved  variety.  Frank 
says  he  shall  plant  twenty  acres  next  season.    The  apparatus  can  be 


SILK  CULTURE. 


43 


sent  from  here  probably  at  a  cheaper  rate  than  it  could  be  made  at 
home. 

M.  Remont  tells  me  that  my  best  plan  to  learn  the  art  of  raising 
silkworms  will  be  to  go  to  the  Bergeries  de  Le-Mans  next  summer,  as 
there  is  a  model  established  there  for  the  instruction  of  all.  It  is 
about  seven  leagues  from  Paris.  There  are  several  other  places  near, 
one  at  Isantz,  and  another  at  Villenoble,  where  large  cocooneries  are 
erected,  which  I  shall  see  in  the  feeding  season.  We  went  yesterday 
to  see  M.  Clair  in  the  new  Cocoonery ;  he  has  models  of  the  most 
approved  laboratories,  with  apparatus  for  ventilation  and  heating  the 
air,  and  a  machine  for  drying  the  damp  leaves,  and  a  plan  of  using  the 
net,  but  not  so  simple  as  you  have  it. 

Great  preparations  are  making  in  the  Champs  Elys^es  for  the 
approaching  Exposition.  Five  hundred  laborers  are  engaged  in  erect- 
ing immense  buildings  for  the  reception  of  the  innumerable  articles 
which  are  offered  for  exhibition,  which  it  is  said  will  surpass  all  others. 

We  have  ascertained  here  that  silkworms'  eggs  have  been  preserved 
in  ice-houses  for  twenty-two  months,  and  that  they  hatched  as  well  as 
new,  by  being  hatched  in  a  moist  air.  A  too  dry  air  was  probably  the 
cause  of  failure  at  Burlington,  last  year. 

We  received  a  letter  from  John  a  few  days  since,  but  from  Burling- 
ton not  a  whisper.  Since  we  got  John's  letter  we  are  still  more 
anxious  to  secure  the  trees,  as  he  says  they  are  selling  very  high  there. 
These  trees  at  that  rate  will  bring  you  six  or  seven  hundred  per  cent  of 
the  first  cost. 

Don't  fail  to  write  by  every  steamship  and  packet,  and  send  us  the 
"  Silk-Grower  "  regularly.  Frank  wants  a  copy  to  leave  at  Galignani's 
reading-room. 

London,  Apr.  13,  1839. 
Dear  Brothers, — I  received  yours  of  the  15th  of  March  last 
night ;  brings  good  news,  and  I  need  not  say  how  much  pleasure  it 
gives  me  to  hear  from  home,  now  that  I  am  alone  here,  and  have  no 
one  to  talk  to.  I  have  neglected  writing  too  much  lately,  and  now, 
since  Frank  is  gone,  I  have  nothing  to  write  about.  James  Jackson 
will  say,  "  Why  don't  you  give  us  something  for  the  '  Silk-Grower '  % " 
but  what  can  I  find  in  this  great  city  of  London  1  So  you  must  be  con- 
tent for  the  present ;  perhaps  I  may  gather  something  when  I  go  back 
to  France,  which  I  shall  do  in  May,  after  I  get  your  letters  by  the 


44 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


Great  Western.  The  wind  has  blown  from  the  east  for  the  last  two 
weeks,  and  I  think  the  Richard  Anderson  may  have  a  short  passage. 
I  hope  so,  on  Frank's  account,  but  I  very  much  fear  he  will  not  have 
reached  home  before  you  get  this,  and  that  he  will  regret  having  taken 
passage  in  her.  How  I  have  bothered  Frank  in  keeping  him  back  so 
long  !  'T  was  that  unfortunate  letter  I  wrote  to  Havre  that  marred  all, 
or  you  would  have  seen  him  long  ago.  I  cannot  think  of  the  business 
of  last  winter  without  being  amazed  at  my  own  foolishness  in  the 
management  of  the  affair ;  the  only  excuse  I  can  offer  is  my  ignorance 
of  business  transactions.  What  surprises  me  now  is,  how  that  Remont 
should  have  trusted  us  to  so  great  an  amount,  being  strangers  to  him 
and  every  one  here ;  it  might  have  been  our  long,  honest  faces,  for  at 
one  time  they  had  a  peculiar  elongated  solemn  expression — but  enough 
of  this.  Frank  will  give  you  the  particulars.  I  hope  you  will  see 
him  before  you  get  this.  I  think  it  was  well  for  Frank  to  go,  as  he 
did  not  enjoy  being  away  from  his  business,  when  he  thought  of  how 
much  there  was  to  do ;  so  it  was  better  for  him  to  go,  even  if  he 
returned  again  in  the  fall.  By  the  way,  Eush,  have  you  still  the 
intention  of  coming  out  this  year  1  If  so,  let  me  know,  because  it  may 
have  some  influence  on  my  moves  here,  so  do  not  fail  to  let  me  know 
by  return  of  Liverpool ;  but  in  regard  to  coming  out,  act  freely,  and 
don't  think  of  me.  I  shall  endeavor  to  discover  all  I  can  in  relation 
to  the  cultivation  of  silk  during  the  summer,  but  you  must  not  be  dis- 
appointed if  not  so  much  is  to  be  found  out  as  was  anticipated.  I 
fear  that  my  "  European  correspondence  "  will  not  amount  to  much ; 
however,  I  shall  do  all  I  can. 

By  your  letters  I  think  your  prospects  are  fine  for  next  season ;  let 
me  know  how  things  go  often.  I  wrote  you  by  the  Quebec,  and  sent 
some  "Rohan"  potatoes.* 

There  is  no  beginning  or  end  to  this  letter,  I  write  in  such  a  hurry ; 
never  mind,  go  ahead  !  To  save  postage  I  have  written  to  John  on  the 
other  side.  Sep. 

London,  Apr.  17. 

Dear  John,  —  Vous  6tes  bon  garcon  to  write  so  often ;  in  every 
letter  vous  avez  dit  quelque  chose  j'en  suis  charrne  —  poure  moi,  je  suis 
loge  a  No.  2  Grafton  St.,  Fitzroy  Square,  tout  pres  de  Healy  &  Harvey. 

*  The  potatoes  proved  an  unfortunate  speculation. 


SILK  CULTURE. 


45 


I  have  not  seen  much  of  London  yet,  but  I  am  tres  content  with 
what  I  have  seen.  What  nice  things  there  are  in  the  National  Gallery, 
nothing  poor  !  The  Exhibition  will  open  in  about  two  weeks.  I  anti- 
cipate a  good  deal  of  pleasure  from  that.  I  see  Healy  almost  every 
day  ;  he  is  getting  on  finely,  painting  big  folks  ;  has  improved  surpris- 
ingly, colors  like  Vandyke.  I  dined  with  Harvey  yesterday;  we 
shall  go  to  Paris  together,  in  May.  He  is  going  to  be  my  cicerone 
here,  and  I  his  in  Paris.  Healy  has  promised  to  go  with  me  to  see 
Betsey  and  Mary  Ann  *  soon  ;  they  do  not  live  at  the  old  place  now.  I 
am  sorry  I  could  not  have  done  something  better  with  your  funds,  but 
it  was  so  late,  you  know. 

I  bought  in  Paris  some  casts  for  you.  They  were  collected  in  a 
hurry,  and  I  fear  you  may  not  like  the  selection ;  when  I  go  back  I 
will  pay  more  attention  to  those  things.  I  am  gathering  prints  every 
day.  I  have  never  seen  an  engraving  of  the  Lady  Jane  Grey,t  I 
doubt  if  there  has  been  one  made  yet.  Some  time  ago  there  was  a 
good  deal  said  about  the  new  art  of  making  pictures  by  the  camera 
obscura,  but  I  have  never  seen  any  of  the  effects  produced  by  it,  and 
lately  have  heard  nothing  of  it. 

Messrs.  Ward  Cheney  &  Bros., 

Burlington,  N.  J.,  U.  S.  A. 

New  York  Ship,  May  24. 

London,  May  17,  1839. 
Dear  Brothers,  — Your  letters  of  the  24th  and  31st  of  March,  and 
by  the  Great  Western,  are  received,  and  give  me  much  pleasure,  though 
I  have  some  fears,  from  the  tone  of  your  last  letter,  that  the  tree  busi- 
ness will  prove  rather  a  poor  speculation;  but,  situated  as  we  were,  it  was 
the  best  we  could  have  done  in  the  matter.  Frank  has  told  you  before 
this,  probably,  the  particulars  to  your  satisfaction.  When  I  think  of 
the  affair  now  coolly,  —  that  the  mistake  was  on  our  part,  and  that  you 
have  had  wrong  done  you  ;  but  as  we  could  do  nothing  but  grumble 
then,  we  took  the  liberty  to  indulge  ourselves  in  that  luxury.  But  let 
it  pass ;  it  is  done  and  cannot  be  undone.  You  will  think  it  strange 
that  I  am  still  in  London,  but  I  have  told  you  the  reason,  and  now 
that  I  shall  have  nothing  to  attend  to  here,  I  shall  return  to  France  in 
a  few  days,  and  gather  what  there  is  to  be  learned  in  regard  to  the 


Daughters  of  his  landlady. 


t  By  De  la  Roche. 


46 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


object  for  which  I  came  out.  I  will  say  again,  don't  expect  anything 
wonderful.  I  shall  attend  particularly  to  what  you  say  in  relation  to 
the  eggs,  and  can  no  doubt  procure  any  quantity.  I  send  the  bill  for 
one  thousand  dollars  by  the  Great  Western ;  don't  bother  yourselves 
about  sending  any  more  at  present. 

Frank,  you  must  give  me  a  detailed  account  of  your  voyage  home. 
I  fear  very  much  you  had  a  long  passage,  and  on  the  cold  water  system 
you  must  have  had  rather  a  dry  time  of  it ;  for  a  few  days  after  you 
left  I  felt  rather  blue,  but  I  soon  made  some  pleasant  acquaintances 
through  Healy.  In  one  family  in  particular  I  have  passed  many  a 
pleasant  evening ;  they  are  Americans,  and  live  out  beyond  the 
Kegent's  Park  ;  they  have  spent  some  time  in  France,  and  have  noth- 
ing of  the  reserve  that  the  Americans  generally  have,  so  that  I  feel  as 
much  at  home  there  as  with  you.  I  had  like  to  have  forgotten  to  say, 
qu'il-y-a  trois  soeurs  dans  ce  famille-la  (!!!). 

I  shall  go  to  France  in  a  few  days ;  shall  go  down  to  Kent  to  join 
my  friend  Harvey,  and  we  shall  go  over  together  to  Paris.  I  am  sorry 
I  am  not  there  now  to  see  the  revolutionary  sport.  I  suppose  it  will 
be  all  over  before  I  get  there. 

My  health  is  excellent  now.  I  think  this  climate  suits  me  even  bet- 
ter than  France.  I  think,  after  I  get  through  feeding  silkworms,  I 
may  return  here. 

John,  I  have  received  your  kind  letter  by  the  Great  Western,  with 
the  accompaniment.  I  wish  I  could  say  something  in  return,  but  this 
thick  skull  of  mine  encloses  so  fast  what  few  ideas  it  holds  that  no 
beating  can  induce  them  to  leave  their  stronghold.  I  can  only  say,  que 
je  suis  charme  de  sa  lettre  et  ravi  with  the  writer. 

The  Exhibition  is  open,  and  said  to  be  better  than  common.  I  am 
disappointed,  much  disappointed  in  Wilkie.  There  is  nothing  of  the 
blind  fiddler  left  in  him.  Turner  is  most  extravagant,  and  leaves  his 
things  rude  and  unfinished.  I  am  pleased  with  Leslie.  There  is  an 
admirable  picture  from  Don  Quixote  by  him.  Healy  has  five  portraits 
in  the  Exhibition,  which  do  him  credit ;  he  is  going  to  France  soon  to 
paint  the  King.  I  see  Healy  often,  and  through  him  have  made  some 
pleasant  acquaintance  here.  We  took  tea  with  Betsey  and  Mary  Ann, 
and  afterwards  went  to  the  theatre  with  them.  They  made  inquiries 
about  you,  and  want  to  see  you  very  much. 

I  dined  at  the  Artists'  Benevolent  Fund  last  week,  at  the  Freemasons' 


SILK  CULTURE. 


47 


Hall;  the  Duke  of  Cambridge  presided.  We  had  speeches  from 
Lords  and  great  folks.  Sergeant  Talfourd  is  a  splendid  speaker ;  we 
had  singers  from  St.  Paul's,  two  boys,  —  that  sang  enchantingly,  after 
dinner,  the  "  Non  nobis."  I  never  heard  anything  surpass  that,  — 
"  strains  that  might  create  a  soul  under  the  ribs  of  death  ;  "  then  "  God 
save  the  Queen,"  and  many  other  enchanting  things  were  sung  during 
the  evening.  The  gallery  was  filled  with  fair  forms  and  faces,  and  on 
drinking  their  healths,  we  made  the  old  hall  resound  with  shouts.  I 
never  felt  more  glorious  in  my  life. 

Paris,  June  24,  1839. 

Dear  Brothers,  —  I  wrote  you  by  the  Liverpool.  Since  I  wrote 
I  have  not  heard  from  you,  but  expect  news  by  the  Great  Western 
in  a  few  days.  I  have  been  to  Villenoble  to  see  the  silk  establish- 
ment of  M.  Gremodst.  They  are  feeding  about  twenty  thousand 
there  of  the  white  worm,  much  like  what  you  have  fed  last  season ; 
they  use  the  leaves  of  the  white  and  morettis  mulberry.  They  have 
many  mulberries  planted,  but  they  are  still  very  small.  All  the 
objection  that  is  made  to  them  is  that  they  are  not  hardy,  and  will  not 
endure  the  frosts  of  their  winter.  The  leaves  are  considered  preferable 
to  all  others.  The  plan  of  feeding  is  better  described  in  the  books 
that  Frank  carried  home  than  I  can  give  it.  I  shall  go  out  soon  to  see 
the  reeling  process. 

I  wish  James  was  here  to  give  you  a  description  of  the  Exposition 
de  l'lndustrie  in  the  Champs  Elysees ;  I  cannot  do  it.  I  went  down 
yesterday  to  make  drawings  of  some  silk  reels  there,  but  found  them 
so  complicated  that  I  thought  they  would  be  useless  to  you.  There 
are  several  models  of  machines  for  manufacturing  sugar  from  the  beet, 
one  for  pressing  the  pulp  by  a  cylinder  press ;  the  rolls  were  hollow, 
and  the  surface  perforated  with  small  holes  about  the  size  of  a  quill, 
and  around  them  a  wove  wire  gauze  is  laid ;  the  pulp  is  forced  up 
between  the  rollers  by  a  sort  of  force  pump,  the  juice  running  off  at 
the  ends  of  the  hollow  cylinder.  I  very  much  doubt  whether  this 
plan  will  work. 

July  7,  1839. 

...  I  wrote  you  by  my  last  it  was  fortunate  I  had  not  paid  Remont 
for  all  the  trees  he  pretended  to  have  sent.  I  paid  him  2,500 
francs  on  arriving  in  Paris.  There  is  yet  some  9,000  or  10,000  francs 
due.    It  is  very  doubtful  whether  he  gets  much  more.    I  have  not 


48 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


seen  him  for  some  weeks.  I  went  yesterday  to  Yillenoble  to  purchase 
some  eggs  for  you,  but  could  get  none.  I  don't  know  that  it  is  of 
much  consequence  to  get  the  sort  they  have  here  ;  they  are  the  same  you 
got  at  Frankfort  last  year,  —  the  white  peanut  worm,  —  but  not  near 
as  large  and  fine ;  their  multicaulis  were  about  one  foot  high.  I  shall 
be  obliged  to  go  South  to  get  eggs.  There  will  be  a  good  many  trees 
in  this  region  next  fall,  but  very  small  ones.  I  will  see  what  there  is 
South.  We  had  such  poor  luck  on  the  last  winter's  operations  that  I 
have  not  courage  to  attempt  anything  again  in  the  way  of  purchases. 

There  are  three  American  artists  lodging  at  the  same  house  with 
me,  who  are  going  next  week  to  the  South  of  France  and  Italy ;  possi- 
bly I  may  join  them.  If  I  do,  I  shall  not  probably  see  any  letter 
from  you  for  two  months  or  so.  In  case  I  should  not  return  soon  to 
Paris,  I  will  have  the  funds  so  arranged  that  Rush  or  Frank,  if  either 
should  come  out,  may  take  advantage  of  them ;  this  would  be  neces- 
sary, for  they  are,  you  know,  deposited  in  my  name. 

Monday,  8. 

I  have  about  made  up  my  mind  to  go  to  the  South  of  France,  and  per- 
haps to  Italy.    If  I  go,  I  shall  start  next  week  with  the  three  artists. 

John,  I  always  get  something  from  you  by  every  letter.  Je 
vous  remercie  bien,  je  suis  tou jours  content  do  vos  nouvelles ;  a 
present  je  suis  loge  chez  Mad.  Pirau  et  Mons.  Harvey  et  trois  autres 
American  artistes  de  New  York,  Messrs.  Yan  Bright,  Gray,  and 
Huntington.  They  go  to  Italy  next  week.  It  is  a  strong  temptation 
to  me  to  accompany  them.  Have  you  seen  the  engraving  of  De  la 
Eoche's  "  Gabriel  "1  I  think  it  is  one  of  the  most  exquisite  things  in  the 
world.  By  the  way,  it  is  an  almost  exact  portrait  of  his  wife,  who  is 
the  daughter  of  Horace  Yernet ;  she  has  the  most  angelic  expression 
of  any  woman  I  ever  saw,  but  she  is  not  long  for  this  world.  The 
Lady  Jane  Grey  of  De  la  Eoche  has  been  lost,  —  burnt.  Quel  mal- 
heur,  0  quel  malheur  ! 

Messrs.  Ward  Cheney  &  Bros., 

Burlington,  N.  J.,  U.  S.  A. 

Per  British  Queen. 

Paris,  July  28,  1839. 
Dear  Brothers,  —  I  wrote  you  by  the  Great  Western,  saying 
that  I  intended  soon  going  to  Italy  in  company  with  some  American 
artists ;  but  since  then  I  have  given  it  up,  and  shall  try  to  do  all  in 


SILK  CULTURE. 


49 


my  power  to  secure  some  trees  for  you.  I  went  yesterday  to  Ville- 
noble,  but  they  have  nothing  there  worth  having  ;  not  a  tree  over  a 
foot  in  height.  I  saw  Eemont  a  week  ago ;  he  has  some,  but  rather 
small.  His  price  there  was  forty  francs  per  hundred  for  the  best ;  says 
he  has  some  line  trees  about  sixty  leagues  from  Paris.  I  think  it  is 
rather  doubtful  whether  I  shall  be  able  to  find  good  ripe  trees  here ; 
the  season  has  been  rather  backward  and  cold.  The  advantage  of 
getting  trees  here  is  great  on  account  of  the  facility  of  sending  them 
to  Havre,  to  be  shipped  by  the  packets.  However,  if  nothing  can  be 
done  here,  I  shall  immediately  start  south  towards  the  Mediterranean, 
and  see  what  can  be  done  there.  I  think  it  very  doubtful  whether 
many  trees  can  be  found,  on  account  of  the  large  shipments  of  last 
year.  The  product  of  this  year  has  been  from  cuttings  principally.  I 
should  say  that  three-fourths  of  the  cuttings  planted  at  Villenoble  had 
failed  ;  the  cuttings  being  taken  from  branches,  and  small. 

I  am  glad  to  hear  that  your  prospects  are  so  good  for  the  next 
season.  You  will  no  doubt  make  a  good  deal.  It  is  surprising  how 
the  speculation  keeps  up.  .  When  will  it  end  1 

Frank,  why  do  you  not  write  1  I  suppose  you  are  enchanting  the 
Burlington  folks  with  your  cornet  a  piston. 

Dear  John,  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  are  going  home  with  Electa  to  see 
mother  ;  how  lonely  she  must  be  !  I  do  hope  before  a  long  time  some 
of  us  will  be  there  to  stop,  after  the  mulberry  speculations  are  over ; 
everything  must  give  way  to  that  now.  Dubourjal  is  well.  Healy 
arrived  yesterday  to  paint  the  King.  I  will  collect  some  more  casts 
and  something  more  pleasing,  and  send  you,  with  some  pictures  that  I 
have  collected. 

Health  is  excellent ;  I  can  stand  anything  now. 

Messrs.  Ward  Cheney  &  Bros., 

Burlington,  N.  J.,  U.  S.  A. 

Paris,  Aug.  7,  1839. 

To  Ward  Cheney,  Burlington,  N.  J. 

Dear  Brother,  —  I  wrote  you  in  a  great  hurry  by  the  Liverpool 
steamer,  after  receiving  your  letter  by  her.  The  day  after  I  saw 
Eemont,  and  made  the  following  bargain  for  trees.  Perhaps  I  have 
done  wrong,  but  as  the  price  of  trees  was  rising  every  day,  and  as  news 
from  America  was  received  of  the  sales  there,  and  Prince  had  sent 
out  two  agents  to  purchase  trees,  and  knowing  there  must  be  a 

4 


50 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


limited  number  of  them  to  be  had,  I  got  rather  nervous  and  struck.  I 
could  have  done  nothing  with  any  one  else  but  Remont  without  ready 
money  ;  besides,  it  would  have  been  impossible,  I  think,  to  have  found 
so  great  a  number  in  one  place,  and  to  gather  a  few  here  and  there 
would  be  attended  with  expense  and  uncertainty ;  so,  taking  all  into 
consideration,  I  have  done  what  I  have  done. 

Then  follows  a  copy  of  the  contract  in  French.  This  contract 
was  not  well  carried  out,  and  caused  Seth  much  anxiety  and 
embarrassment,  as  funds  were  delayed. 

Next  follows  a  sketch  of  a  reel  for  silk,  with  a  description  of 
it,  which  he  thought  an  improvement  on  the  one  in  use  in 
America. 

"Frank, — lam  going  to-morrow  to  Geneva,  and  from  thence  I 
propose  returning  by  way  of  Lyons  in  company  with  some  American 
artists ;  perhaps  we  may  go  on  as  far  as  the  North  of  Italy  before  I 
return,  but  I  think  not,  for  I  must  be  back  to  Paris  before  the  1st  of 
November  to  attend  to  the  trees,  which  I  shall  see  counted  and 
measured,  and  not  trust  to  others,  as  last  year. 

"John,  Philip  arrived  a  few  days  since  from  Italy,  and  goes  home 
by  the  8th.  He  has  done  some  famous  things,  and  will  do  more ;  he 
seems  more  ambitious  than  ever.  " 

Geneva,  Aug.  15,  1839. 
I  left  Paris  the  7th,  in  the  coupe*  of  the  diligence,  for  this  celebrated 
place,  passing  through  Troyes,  Dijon,  etc.  The  route  from  Paris  to 
the  foot  of  the  Jura  is  most  dull  and  uninteresting,  passing  through  a 
level  country,  but  highly  cultivated.  I  was  surprised  to  see  large 
fields  of  Indian  corn  as  we  approached  the  Alps.  Nothing  was 
wanting  but  a  few  stumps  to  make  one  imagine  he  was  travelling  in 
Ohio.  The  weather  has  been  very  dry  for  a  long  time,  and  we  were 
enveloped  in  clouds  of  dust  as  we  rolled  along  over  a  fine  stone  road. 
We  dined  on  the  third  day  at  Pierre,  from  which  place  we  began  to 
discover  the  Alps  far  away  in  the  distance,  like  a  faint  blue  cloud  ;  as 
we  approached  them  their  forms  gradually  appeared  more  distinct  and 
definite ;  the  air  was  very  clear,  I  think  more  so  than  I  ever  saw  it  in 
America.  My  compagnon  de  voyage  observed,  "  Is  that  a  cloud  we  see 
there  above  the  long  line  of  Jura  Alps,  or  can  that  be  Mont  Blanc  V' 


SILK  CULTURE. 


51 


Yes,  it  is  Mont  Blanc ! ! !  We  were  at  least  one  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  from  that  mountain,  away  in  the  plain  below  the  Jura  Alps, 
which  are  themselves  higher  than  any  mountains  I  have  ever  seen ; 
still  Mont  Blanc  towered  above  them  all,  a  pyramid  of  light.  I  never 
saw  anything  before  that  gave  me  such  an  idea  of  height.  We  arrived 
at  the  foot  of  the  Alps  before  the  sun  set,  and  left  the  diligence,  with 
its  tired  horses,  behind,  and  walked  on  to  enjoy  the  scene  before  us. 
Long  herds  of  cows  were  winding  their  way  down  the  mountain,  fol- 
lowed by  bouncing  Swiss  girls,  with  broad-brimmed  Jiats ;  but  we 
heard  not  the  song  of  the  "  Ranz  des  Vaches";  so  we  hurried  on,  and 
reached  the  height  before  the  sun  had  set,  and  looked  down  on  the 
vast  plain  we  had  passed  below.  We  regretted  that  we  were  obliged  to 
pass  this  line  of  mountains  in  the  night,  by  the  dim  starlight.  We 
were  tantalized  by  faint  glimpses  of  the  shadowy  forms  of  mountains, 
and  scenes  that  by  daylight  must  be  glorious ;  the  sun  rose  just  as  we 
came  to  the  descent  of  the  last  Alp  in  the  Jura  range,  when  the 
glorious  sight  of  the  main  line  of  mountains  and  glaciers,  and,  crown- 
ing all,  Mont  Blanc,  burst  at  once  on  our  view.  This  was  too  much  ; 
it  was  absolutely  crushing,  painfully  sublime.  I  wish  I  could  convey 
to  you  some  faint  idea  of  what  I  saw  and  felt  then,  but  I  have  not  the 
command  of  language,  and  must  be  silent.  We  arrived  in  Geneva 
after  a  journey  of  three  days  and  three  nights  from  Paris.  I  am  very 
much  pleased  with  this  place  and  the  people ;  they  seem  to  be  much 
like  the  Philadelphians,  —  a  quiet,  contented  race.  Then  there  is  Lake 
Geneva;  nothing  can  be  more  delicious  than  this.  I  can  scarcely 
believe  that  I  am  awake,  and  that  all  this  delightful  scene  is  a  reality. 
As  soon  as  the  dawn  appears  I  rush  to  my  window  that  looks  on  the 
lake  and  mountains  beyond,  and  try  to  persuade  myself  that  I  am  not 
dreaming,  but  that  it  is  the  same  sun  I  have  seen  rise  three  thousand 
miles  off  from  my  low  native  hills,  which  I  now  see  reflected  from  the 
tops  of  those  vast  pyramids  of  ice  and  snow ;  no,  it  is  not  a  dream, 
but  I  have  passed  from  some  other  state  of  existence  to  Elysium. 
A  strange,  melancholy  feeling  comes  over  me  when  I  think  of  leaving 
this  delicious  spot,  which  almost  makes  me  wish  I  had  never  come 
here.  I  feel,  too,  that  I  am  undeserving  all  this  good  fortune  and 
happiness.  John,  you  have  read  Rousseau's  description  of  this  place. 
How  exquisite  it  is  !  he  must  have  felt  how  far  short  of  the  reality  he 
came.     You  must  come  here  some  day  and  read  Rousseau  again  ;  it  is 


52 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


worth  crossing  the  Atlantic  for.  I  am  going  to-morrow  to  Chillon,  at 
the  other  end  of  the  lake,  in  company  with  Huntington  and  Gray.  I 
shall  wait  here  till  the  23d  for  your  letters  by  the  steamship.  Perhaps 
you  may  hear  from  me  next  in  Italy  •  at  all  events,  I  shall  return  to 
Paris  by  the  middle  of  October. 

Paris,  Dec.  15. 

We  have  just  returned  from  Versailles  for  the  fifth  time,  and  have 
closed  a  bargain  with  Mons.  Eemont  for  the  following  lots  of  trees, 
which  includes  what  we  have  purchased  before  that  I  gave  you  notice 

45,000  Morus  multicaulis  from  3  to  6  feet  in  height. 
17,000     "  moretti. 

1,000     "  elata. 

1,000     "  dandsls. 
100  fruit-trees  of  various  species. 

The  whole  purchase  amounts  to  31,000  francs,  the  best  that  can  be 
done  in  France.  We  could  not  obtain  the  multicaulis  without  taking 
the  other  varieties.  They  will  probably  be  sent  by  the  packet  of  the 
1st  or  8th  of  January. 

You  must  send  the  funds  as  soon  as  possible.  We  may  be  able  to 
gather  a  few  more  in  the  course  of  the  winter.  You  understand, 
thirty-one  thousand  francs. 

As  the  mail  goes  immediately,  have  not  time  to  say  another  word. 

Sep. 

Milan,  Aug.  29,  1839. 
Florence,  Sept.  20. 

Dear  Brothers,  — I  wrote  you  last  week  from  Geneva  by  the 
steamship.  The  day  after  we  made  an  excursion  on  board  of  the 
steamboat  to  the  end  of  Lake  Leman.  The  morning  was  calm,  and 
the  water  as  smooth  as  glass ;  in  the  air  a  mistiness  like  October  in 
America,  through  which  the  dim  forms  of  the  lofty  Alps  that  con  tine 
the  lake  appeared  one  after  the  other,  as  we  ascended  the  lake,  like 
a  magical  scene.  The  boat  stops  occasionally  at  Vyon,  Vevay,  etc., 
to  take  in  and  land  passengers,  —  queer,  old  antique-looking  villages, 
with  round  towers  and  Gothic  spires,  the  hills  crowned  with  vineyards 
to  their  tops.  Anon  the  famous  old  Castle  of  Chillon  appeared  in  the 
distance  on  the  shore  of  the  lake.  Nothing  can  be  more  magnificent 
than  the  scenery  at  this  end  of  the  lake,  bounded  by  high  mountains, 


SILK  CULTURE. 


53 


some  with  their  tops  covered  by  eternal  snows.  We  landed  at  Villa- 
neuve,  at  the  end  of  the  lake,  and  wandered  along  the  shore  of  the 
lake ;  now  stopping  to  sketch,  and  now  to  admire  the  magnificent  scene 
around  us,  of  lake  and  mountains  and  glaciers.  Soon  we  came  to  the 
old  Castle  of  Chillon,  which  we  entered  and  explored ;  descended  into 
the  prison  cut  in  the  rocks,  and  dimly  lighted  up  by  narrow  crevices  in 
the  thick  walls.  Here  is  where  Byron  lays  the  scene  of  "  The  Prisoner 
of  Chillon." 

And  then  we  came  to  Montreux,  a  village  situated  on  the  side  of  the 
mountains,  and  higher  up  still  the  pointed  spire  of  the  village  church 
rises,  founded  on  a  craggy  rock  half  hidden  with  vines  and  fig-trees, 
and  below  a  torrent  rushes  along  down  to  the  lake.  From  here  we 
command  one  of  the  most  glorious  views  in  the  world  down  the  lake 
towards  Geneva.  While  we  were  admiring  this  splendid  scene,  one  of 
those  lovely  Swiss  girls  passed  along. 

"A  basket  on  her  head  she  bore,  her  brow  was  smooth  and  fair." 

She  wore  the  peculiar  costume  of  the  Canton  de  Vaud ;  on  her  arm 
was  hung  the  curious,  comical  straw  hat  worn  by  the  paysans,  and 
beautiful  and  picturesque  it  is  too ;  and  so  she  wended  her  way  up 
the  mountain  path  that  led  to  her  mountain  home,  and  we  lost  sight 
of  her  forever. 

After  spending  a  few  most  delightful  days  here,  we  left  with  regret 
this  lovely  spot,  and  returned  to  Geneva,  and  took  passage  early  in  the 
morning  for  Milan,  taking  the  road  along  the  northern  side  of  the  lake. 
The  sunrise  is  glorious  on  this  lake ;  nothing  in  nature  can  be  more 
magnificent  than  the  scene.  Here  at  our  feet  lies  this  glassy  lake, 
reflecting  clearly  all  the  nearer  objects  in  the  middle  ground,  a  most 
lovely  cultivated  country  with  vineyards  and  cornfields,  and  here  and 
there  a  clustering  village  distinctly  marked  by  a  round  tower  or  spire  ; 
then  beyond  rises  the  "  Mole,'*  a  great  pyramid,  as  it  seems,  in  the 
misty  morning  light ;  and  high  above  all  towers  Mont  Blanc,  the 
glaciers  stretching  away  interminably  in  the  distance,  reflecting  from 
their  icy  tops  the  sun,  producing  the  effect  of  rivers  of  molten  silver 
running  down  the  sides  of  the  mountain. 

We  again  passed  the  lovely  village  of  Montreux,  and  took  our  leave 
of  it  with  much  the  same  feeling  with  which  one  leaves  his  old  home 
forever,  the  setting  sun  casting  a  rich,  warm  glow  on  the  thousand 


54 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


vineyards  spread  out  like  a  rich  carpet,  and  rising  terrace  above  terrace, 
every  rock  covered  with  the  mantling  vine. 

As  the  sun  set  we  bade  good-by  to  Lake  Leman,  and,  passing  along 
the  banks  of  the  Rhone,  arrived  at  St.  Maurice  just  as  the  full  moon 
rose  above  the  high  and  craggy  rock  that  overhangs,  and  that  must 
some  day  fall  and  crush  these  towns.  We  left  early  next  morning,  fol- 
lowing the  Rhone  and  its  narrowing  valley,  and  slept  at  Brigue  the 
second  night,  at  the  foot  of  the  Simplon,  which  we  began  to  ascend 
next  morning  by  that  splendid  road  made  by  Napoleon.  The  ascent  is 
very  easy,  so  much  so  that  in  descending  it  is  not  necessary  to  drag 
the  wheels  of  heavily  loaded  carriages.  It  is  the  most  wonderful  work 
of  mechanic  art  that  I  have  ever  seen.  My  admiration  is  divided,  in 
passing  it,  between  this  and  the  mighty  and  seemingly  impassable  Alps 
over  which  it  passes.  We  reached  the  top  of  the  mountain  about 
noon,  and  then  began  to  descend  towards  Italy  through  the  narrow  pass 
only  wide  enough  for  the  rushing  torrent  and  the  road.  On  each  side 
rise  the  "  cloud-capped  "  Alps,  covered  with  eternal  snows.  Here  the# 
sun  rises  and  sets  at  midday.  No  words  or  colors  can  convey  the  least 
idea  of  their  fearful  height ;  they  must  be  seen.  It  is  painful  even  to 
look  upon  them. 

Anon  the  air  begins  to  soften  as  we  descend,  and'  soon  the  delicious 
vale  of  Domo  d'Ossola  bursts  at  once  on  our  view,  all  covered  with  vine- 
yards and  cornfields  and  groves  of  mulberry.  Nothing  can  be  more 
striking  and  agreeable  than  this  sudden  contrast  from  barren  mountains 
to  the  most  lovely  valley  in  the  world.  And  now  we  pass  along  the 
banks  of  that  beautiful  Lake  Maggiore,  with  its  enchanting  little  islands 
crowned  with  palaces.  Leaving  these  we  come  out  on  the  broad,  rich 
plains  of  Lombardy,  like  a  vast  prairie  cultivated  with  great  care,  each 
side  of  the  road  hedged,  and  the  fields  planted  with  the  most  luxuriant 
mulberry,  seemingly  enough  to  produce  silk  for  the  whole  world. 

We  stopped  at  Milan  two  days.  The  Cathedral,  which  is  the  great 
object  of  attraction  here,  is  certainly  the  most  beautiful  and  imposing 
piece  of  architecture  I  have  ever  seen.  It  is  built  of  marble,  and  in 
the  Gothic  style.  More  than  four  thousand  pieces  of  sculpture  enrich 
this  church ;  this  may  give  you  an  idea  of  its  richness  and  magnifi- 
cence. From  its  lofty  spire  we  had  a  fine  view  of  the  distant  Alps 
which  we  have  passed,  and  of  the  plains  of  Lombardy. 

We  were  detained  ten  days  at  Parma  on  account  of  the  sickness  of 


SILK  CULTURE. 


55 


one  of  our  companions  (Gray),  and  here  I  had  a  fine  opportunity  of 
studying  the  works  of  Correggio,  as  some  of  his  best  pictures  are  here. 
I  stood  two  hours  fixed  like  a  statue  before  that  beautiful  picture  of 
St.  Jerome  (so  called),  of  which  you  have  seen  engravings  ;  but  little 
of  its  surpassing  beauty  can  be  copied  in  an  engraving.  It  is  the  most 
sweetly  colored  picture  1  have  ever  seen,  and  the  most  gracefully  com- 
posed. In  the  Cathedral  are  some  of  his  famous  frescos.  No  one 
but  Correggio  has  painted  angels  so  lovely  in  form  and  heavenly  in 
expression.  How  unfortunate  it  is  that  they  have  been  painted  on 
such  decaying  materials !  Time  has  bee#  hard  on  them,  and  will  soon 
obliterate  all  traces  of  their  wonderful  beauty.  I  gazed  long  and 
silently,  and  turned  to  go  away,  when  I  looked  down,  and  before  the 
altar  saw  one  that  knelt  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  image  of  the  Virgin 
above  her,  unconscious  of  all  around.  I  thought  at  first  it  was  a  mere 
delusion  of  the  vision,  from  looking  so  long  on  the  exquisitely  painted 
forms  in  the  dome  above,  and  that  the  beautiful  image  was  still  left  on 
my  sight,  until  it  moved,  and,  as  she  passed  along,  dipped  her  finger  in 
the  holy  water,  crossing  herself,  and  at  the  same  time  touching  .the 
finger  of  her  little  sister  that  she  led  by  her  side,  who  imitated  the 
same  motion  innocently  as  a  child  imitates,  looking  up  to  her  that  led 
her  instead  of  to  the  cold  marble  image  above.  And  now  I  saw  where 
Correggio  found  his  models.  They  walked  the  earth  ever,  and  do  so 
still.  He  went  not  to  heaven  to  bring  an  angel  down ;  he  raised  them 
from  the  earth. 

In  coming  from  Milan  we  stopped  an  hour  at  Placentia,  a  place 
celebrated  for  its  beautiful  women,  and  it  well  deserves  its  reputation. 
I  think  I  saw  during  the  short  stop  I  made  there  more  beautiful 
women  than  in  all  my  life  before.  Their  features  are  classically 
moulded ;  their  eyes  are  dark,  with  long  lashes  darker  still ;  their 
mouths  inclining  rather  too  much  to  the  voluptuous  perhaps,  a  remark- 
able fulness  about  the  chin  and  neck,  their  busts  the  most  perfect 
imaginable  ;  their  step  is  firm,  but  at  the  same  time  graceful  and  easy  ; 
and  what  is  better  still  than  all  is  that  they  seem  so  unconscious  of 
their  charms,  and  move  on  with  the  same  ease  whether  observed  or 
not ;  't  is  all  the  same. 

Florence,  Oct.  15,  1839. 
Dear  Brothers,  —  I  have  received  yours  by  the  Great  Western. 
It  was  what  I  expected,  and  it  is  for  this  that  I  have  waited  here  so 


5(3 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


long,  and  if  I  had  been  in  Paris  at  the  time  I  received  your  letter  I 
should  have  followed  your  advice,  and  should  have  shaken  hands  with 
you  before  you  will  have  received  this ;  but  as  it  is,  I  am  tempted  to 
run  the  risk  of  passing  the  winter  here  rather  than  cross  the  stormy 
Atlantic  at  this  season,  and  arrive  in  our  cold  climate  in  the  winter.  I 
think  there  will  be  no  danger  in  following  this  course.  I  shall  write 
to  Remont  what  you  advised,  telling  him  at  the  same  time  that  in  any 
further  communication  he  may  wish  to  have  relative  to  the  affair  he 
may  direct  to  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  which  will  lead  him  to 
believe  I  have  returned  home^  so  that  I  shall  not  be  troubled  by  him  ; 
in  fact,  I  have  very  little  fear  of  him,  or  pity,  for  you  know  how  he 
attempted  to  deceive  us  in  the  last  year's  purchase  in  regard  to  the 
number  of  trees.  If  you  shall  not  think  it  safe  to  stop  here  long,  I 
hope  you  will  tell  me  what  will  be  my  best  course,  considering  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  case.  I  am  sorry  I  was  so  precipitate  in  making 
the  contract ;  I  was  anxious  to  do  all  I  could,  and  overshot  the  mark. 
I  hope  you  will  be  more  fortunate  in  your  summer's  operations ;  but 
from  what  you  write,  I  fear  your  chance  is  small.  It  will  be  indeed 
unfortunate  if,  after  so  many  years  of  exertion,  you  should  not  be  able 
to  produce  something  for  your  own  benefit ;  but  we  must  console  our- 
selves that  the  mere  accumulation  of  fortune  is  not  the  greatest  bless- 
ing, and  that  the  poor  man  is  often  happier  than  the  prince  (!).  I 
natter  myself  to  be  able,  when  I  return  to  America,  to  depend  more 
upon  my  own  exertions  than  heretofore,  and  this  is  one  great  induce- 
ment for  me  to  study  here  my  favorite  art,  where  there  are  so  many 
advantages. 

Florence,  Oct.  17,  1839. 
I  have  been  now  in  this  delightful  city  a  month ;  it  is  really  the 
most  pleasing  city  I  have  seen  in  all  my  travels.  The  air  is  soft  and 
healing  in  this  valley  of  the  Arno.  I  have  not  been  in  such  good 
health  and  spirits  since  I  can  remember,  and  am  able  to  accomplish 
more  without  injury  to  my  health  than  I  ever  could  before,  and  this  is 
one  of  the  best  places,  except  Rome,  to  study  the  fine  arts  in  the  world. 
There  are  two  of  the  finest  galleries  in  Europe.  We  can  get  models 
and  the  best  very  cheap.  There  are  jive  of  us  Americans.  Terry,  you 
know,  Frank,  who  crossed  the  water  with  us,  is  one  of  our  club ;  and  a 
fine  fellow  he  is,  too,  and  Dan  and  I  are  brothers.  We  work  together, 
walk  together,  eat  together,  room  together ;  in  the  morning  we  all  five 


SILK  CULTURE. 


57 


draw  at  Terry's  room,  from  a  beautiful  female  model.  After  th's  Dan 
(Huntington)  and  I  return  to  our  room,  and  paint  from  a  beautiful  girl 
who  sits  for  her  head  only  ;  she  has  a  most  sweet  and  Madonna-like 
expression,  and  a  face  that,  if  I  should  see  in  America,  should  be  apt 
to  fall  in  love  with.  Dan  has  made  a  most  beautiful  picture  of  her 
looking  down.  I  wish  you  had  it,  John,  to  engrave ;  it  would  make  a 
very  pleasing  plate  for  an  annual.  To-day  we  have  begun  another  in  a 
position  looking  up,  which  makes  a  fine  contrast  to  the  other.  I  hope 
to  make  a  picture,  too,  of  my  own.  It  is  very  agreeable  to  study  so 
with  another,  and  one  learns  a  great  deal  more  in  the  same  time.  I 
think,  by  working  a  year  or  so  in  this  way,  I  shall  be  able  to  do  some- 
thing if  my  health  permits,  and  when  I  return  the  first  I  shall  do  will 
be  to  paint  the  portraits  of  all  the  family.  I  hope  to  be  able  to  do 
them  justice  ;  but  I  am  flattering  myself,  't  is  time  to  stop. 

The  expenses  of  living  here  are  not  so  great  as  in  Paris.  My  coffee 
and  bread  in  the  morning  costs  but  half  a  paul,  and  dinner  not  over 
three  pauls  ;  *  rooms  are  also  cheaper  than  in  Paris.  Our  models,  too, 
will  sit  all  day  for  four  or  five  pauls,  and  when  there  are  so  many  of 
us  together,  the  expense  is  comparatively  nothing. 

After  remaining  here  about  a  month  longer  we  all  go  to  Pome 
together,  and  shall  have  the  opportunity  of  studying  those  famous 
works  of  Paphael  and  Michael  Angelo.  Time  flies  now,  occupied  as 
I  am  in  my  favorite  pursuit,  and  the  blue  devils  never  cross  my  path. 
I  wish  I  could  tell  you  of  the  glorious  time  I  have  had  for  the  last  two 
months,  and  describe  all  that  I  have  seen,  but  it  is  impossible,  and  I 
must  wait  till  I  see  you,  and  we  will  sit  down  and  talk  it  over  in  our 
old  home,  when  we  all  meet  together  there  again.  How  much  pleasure 
there  is  in  the  anticipation  of  meeting  one's  friends  after  long  separa- 
tion !  It  is  the  height  of  enjoyment,  of  which  he  who  has  never  parted 
from  those  he  loves  can  have  no  conception. 

Messrs.  Ward  Cheney  &  Bros.,  Burlington,  N.  J. 

Florence,  Dec.  1,  1839. 
Dear  Brothers,  —  This  letter  must  be  a  short  one,  for  the  best  of 
reasons,  —  have  the  poorest  of  subjects  to  write  about,  myself.    Since  I 
have  been  here  I  have  spent  all  my  time  in  drawing  and  painting,  so  have 


*  An  old  Italian  coin,  worth  sixpence  English,  or  twelve  cents. 


58 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


had  no  time  to  see  curiosities,  except  those  of  art-galleries,  and  these 
are  enough  to  satisfy  an  artist,  so  that  he  is  apt  to  neglect  all  other 
subjects.  I  might  give  you  a  description  of  these  famous  works,  but 
it  would  be  tame  and  flat,  and  I  have  not  the  faculty  of  expressing 
myself  in  words,  so  must  pass  over  them  in  silence,  but  hope  that  I 
shall  one  day  be  able,  by  my  pencil,  to  give  you  some  idea  of  them. 
As  for  seeing  palaces  and  wandering  through  long  fatiguing  suites  of 
apartments,  this  is  time  lost ;  when  you  have  seen  one  you  have  seen 
all.  By  the  way,  I  was  invited  to  the  Pitti  Palace  the  other  night  to 
a  grand  entertainment  and  ball,  given  by  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany, 
but  did  not  go,  —  did  not  think  it  worth  the  price  of  a  new  suit. 

I  have  been  to  walk  to-day  (Sunday)  in  the  beautiful  gardens  of 
the  palace,  altogether  more  pleasing,  I  think,  than  Versailles  ;  the  air  is 
soft  and  delicious  to-day  as  May,  and  what  makes  it  still  more  delight- 
ful is  that  it  has  been  for  the  last  two  or  three  weeks  rather  cold  and 
rainy,  and  the  wind  from  the  mountains,  which  have  been  covered  with 
snow,  has  felt  to  me  quite  wintry ;  in  fact,  it  is  said  November  is  the 
most  unpleasant  month  they  have  here.  I  hope  this  fine  weather  will 
last  at  least  one  week,  for  to-morrow  we  all  start  for  Eome,  the  "  eternal 
city."  Pive  artists  and  one  doctor  from  South  Carolina,  my  two  com- 
panions from  New  York,  Terry  who  crossed  the  Atlantic  with  me,  and 
one  from  Philadelphia  make  out  the  number,  so  that  we  take  the  whole 
voiture.  A  slow  way  of  travelling  they  have  here.  We  shall  be  six  days 
at  least  going  to  Eome,  which  is  not  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty 
miles.  I  anticipate,  however,  an  agreeable  and  interesting  time,  as  we 
shall  pass  through  the  most  interesting  country  in  the  world  to  us,  of 
which  we  hear  and  read  so  much.  At  Rome  I  shall  continue  my  studies 
in  the  fine  arts,  it  being  the  emporium  of  art.  I  hope  to  make  some 
improvement  in  the  course  of  the  winter. 

Dear  John,  Powers  is  engaged  in  modelling  a  statue,  which  he 
calls  "  Eve  contemplating  the  Apple."  Greenough  I  have  not  seen.  I 
hear  his  "  Washington  "  is  nearly  finished.  We  have  tried  to  get  some 
casts  from  the  Venus,  by  applying  to  the  Director  of  the  Gallery,  but 
cannot  obtain  them.  There  is  a  mighty  difference  between  them  and 
those  you  see  in  America.  We  intended  to  get  copies  of  the  beautiful 
bas-reliefs  on  the  door  of  the  Baptistery,  which  Michael  Angelo  said 
were  fit  for  the  gates  of  Paradise.  They  are  indeed  the  most  exquisite 
things  I  have  ever  seen,  and  some  casts  of  them  I  should  consider 


SILK  CULTURE.  59 

invaluable,  but  we  cannot  obtain  them.  I  shall  send  home  a  beautiful 
female  Torso,  the  original  of  which  is  at  Naples,  with  some  others, 
Wednesday  morning.    Start  in  an  hour  for  Eome. 

Rome,  Feb.  2,  1840. 
How  time  flies,  seemingly  faster  here  than  in 
any  other  place  I  have  ever  been  in. 

Dear  Brothers,  —  If  I  had  not  been  so  occupied  with  art,  I 
should  have  been  quite  miserable  for  the  last  four  months,  for  I  think 
it  is  nearly  that  time  since  I  have  heard  from  you,  till  I  received  yours 
by  the  Liverpool  a  few  days  ago,  which  I  opened  with  trembling  hands, 
fearing  it  might  contain  some  evil  news,  but  am  happy  to  hear  that 
you  are  all  in  health  at  least,  which7  is  one  of  the  greatest  blessings 
after  all,  and  without  it,  though  one  may  be  independent  of  circum- 
stances, he  is  still  unhappy,  but  let  Fortune  rob  one  of  all  but  that  and 
honesty,  and  he  may  laugh  at  her. 

I  had  got  so  far  in  my  sermon  when  I  heard  a  chanting  of  solemn 
music  in  the  street,  and  on  going  to  my  window,  saw  a  long  procession 
of  Capuchin  monks,  each  with  a  candle  in  his  hand  (this  is  Candle- 
mas day),  moving  slowly  up  the  square  and  entering  the  convent 
opposite ;  there  was  one  in  the  rear  dressed  in  rich  robes,  with  a  long 
white  beard  and  fine  head,  his  voice  deep  and  full.  If  the  clay  had 
been  pleasant  I  should  have  gone  to  St.  Peter's,  where  there  is  a  great 
ceremony  of  blessing  the  candles  by  the  Pope.  St.  Peter's  is  about 
two  miles  from  here,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Tiber,  so  that  I  do  not 
often  go  there  except  on  the  days  the  Vatican  is  open ;  besides,  the 
chambers  are  very  damp  and  cold  in  the  winter,  and  not  safe  for  one 
of  weak  lungs  to  spend  much  time  in.  I  have  yet  seen  but  few  of 
the  many  rich  churches  there  are  here  :  in  fact,  one  here  in  Rome 
feels  himself  lost  in  a  wilderness  of  art ;  go  where  he  will  he  is  sur- 
rounded with  the  accumulated  riches  of  ages ;  years  might  be  spent 
here  and  one-half  left  unseen.  The  wonderfully  beautiful  works  of 
Raphael,  whom  they  call  "divine,"  —  and  well  he  deserves  the  appella- 
tion, —  were  enough  for  the  study  of  a  lifetime,  though  one  may  at 
first  be  repulsed  by  the  dry  and  hard  manner  in  which  some  of  his  most 
beautiful  works  are  done,  yet  the  inimitable  simplicity  of  the  design 
will  in  the  end  carry  him  irresistible  sway.  How  I  should  like  to  stop 
here  a  few  years,  and  study  them ;  if  I  were  independent,  think  I 


60  MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 

should,  but  the  recollection  of  them,  I  am  persuaded,  will  have  an 
influence  upon  whatever  I  may  do  hereafter;  the  impression  can 
never  be  effaced  which  they  make. 

I  am  still  continually  occupied  in  drawing  and  painting  and  model- 
ling, and  find  I  can  do  more  without  injury  to  my  health  than  I 
have  ever  been  able  to  before,  though  I  tax  nature  to  the  utmost.  I  be- 
lieve it  must  be  that  the  climate  has  a  great  effect  upon  me.  The  win- 
ter is  past,  or  rather  what  they  call  winter,  which  to  me  has  been 
more  like  spring.  To-day  we  have  sunshine  and  showers  and  thun- 
der, like  April  in  America,  and  have  scarce  needed  a  fire  for  the  past 
two  weeks. 

We  are  five  of  ns  together  in  the  same  apartments,  and  have 
models  every  day,  either  of  old  bearded  men  or  beautiful  females  or 
boys ;  there  are  many  models  in  Rome,  and  good  ones  for  form  and 
color  or  character. 

Rome,  Apr.  18,  1840. 

Dear  Brother,  —  "When  I  read  your  letter  by  the  Great  West- 
ern, my  first  impulse  was  to  start  for  home  immediately.  Unfortu- 
nate as  I  imagined  you  had  been,  I  find  I  had  formed  but  a  poor  estimate 
of  the  reality  ;  it  is  too  bad,  after  so  much  labor  and  vexation,  to  see  the 
end  we  strove  to  gain  still  farther  off,  away  in  the  misty  distance. 
Perhaps  after  all,  if  we  had  attained,  it  might  not  have  been  better ;  it 
may  be  we  have  mistaken  the  road  to  happiness,  that  it  may  not  depend 
upon  fortune.  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  intend  to  continue  the  farm 
at  Burlington,  for  I  think  there  can  be  no  place  in  the  United  States 
so  advantageous  and  pleasant ;  hope  to  see  you  contented  and  happy 
as  usual  when  I  come  back.  But  the  "  Destroyer  "  has  been  along  the 
banks  of  the  Delaware  and  crushed  a  flower ;  *  may  he  spare  the 
"  near  in  blood  "  till  we  meet !  This  is  too  much  to  expect,  though, 
more  than  I  ought  to  expect,  to  meet  all  that  I  left. 

I  will  tell  you  what  I  wish  to  do  now,  which  is  to  spend  some  time 
longer  here  in  study,  where  the  advantages  are  so  great,  so  that  I  may 
be  able,  when  I  return  home,  to  do  my  part  in  restoring  our  lost  for- 
tune. I  feel  my  health  improving  so  fast  that  I  am  confident  I  shall 
have  nothing  to  fear  in  that,  and  if  the  success  that  is  not  denied  to 
well-directed  labor  shall  follow,  it  must  be  my  own  fault  if  I  do  not 


*  A  young  child  of  Ward's. 


SILK  CULTURE. 


61 


succeed.  My  expenses  here  amount  to  about  twenty-five  dollars  a 
month  ;  I  think  this  summer  they  will  be  less.  The  French  Academy 
is  free,  as  well  as  the  Vatican,  where  I  am  daily  occupied ;  to  leave  ad- 
vantages like  these,  after  coming  so  far,  seems  a  great  sacrifice. 

I  don't  know  exactly  the  amount  of  funds  which  I  hold  of  yours, 
but  I  think  between  7,000  and  8,000  francs,  which  I  have  letters  of 
credit  for  here ;  now,  as  you  may  wish  to  avail  yourselves  of  these 
before  I  should  return  (provided  you  object  not  to  my  stop  here),  how 
can  the  refund  be  made  1  Would  it  be  safe  to  return  a  letter  of  credit 
to  Welles  &  Co.  to  Paris,  directing  them  to  forward  the  funds  to  you, 
considering  the  circumstances  in  regard  to  Remont  1  I  received  a  let- 
ter from  him  yesterday,  dated  in  January,  in  which  he  duns  me  for 
amount  due  on  last  year's  purchase  ;  if  he  should  be  disposed,  could  he 
in  other  ways  bother  me  here  %    However,  I  fear  him  not. 

This  is  Holy  Week,  and  great  ceremonies  will  be  performed,  and 
to-morrow  will  be  a  great  display  of  fireworks.  The  weather  is  spring- 
like and  beautiful.    Hope  I  shall  hear  from  you  soon. 

Excuse  this  disjointed  scrawl.  When  I  sit  down  to  write  home," 
my  mind  is  filled  with  so  many  conflicting  thoughts  that  I  cannot  ex- 
press what  I  would.  I  fear  this  will  not  arrive  in  England  in  season 
for  the  Great  Western.  Adieu.  Sep. 

P.  S.  Letters  coming  out  arrive  as  soon  by  the  packet  by  Havre 
as  by  the  steamer,  and  of  course  at  much  less  expense. 

The  mulberry  bubble  had  burst,  and  the  collapse  was  fearful. 
Mr.  Whitmarsh,  who  had  confidently  expected  to  make  $250,000 
before  winter,  was  left  without  "  cash  or  credit  enough  to  buy  a 
barrel  of  flour."  But  fortunately  in  1838  Ralph  Cheney  had 
started  a  silk-mill  for  making  sewing-silk,  at  South  Manchester, 
which  was  afterwards  incorporated  as  the  Mt.  Nebo  Silk  Manu- 
facturing Co.  The  brothers,  instead  of  yielding  to  failure,  at 
once  turned  all  their  energies  to  developing  this  industry  Seth 
and  John  gave  them  their  sympathy  and  help,  as  far  as  possible, 
and  thus  by  a  common  effort  they  reaped  success  from  defeat. 

Seth  returned  home  in  1840,  determined  to  devote  himself  to 
drawing,  and  to  support  himself  by  his  art. 


62 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


CHAPTER  V. 
ARTISTIC  LIFE. 

TN  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1840  Seth  was  in  Manchester, 
and  occupied  in  drawing  in  crayons.  He  lived  and  worked 
in  the  old  homestead,  and  used  the  coarse,  rough  paper  made  at 
Bunce's  mill,  in  his  native  town.  Among  these  portraits  are 
those  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bunce  and  their  children,  and  admirable 
ones  of  his  Aunt  Emily  and  Uncle  Horace  Pitkin.  The  like- 
nesses are  very  perfect,  and  the  drawing  is  free,  delicate,  and 
spirited.  His  price  at  this  time  was  five  dollars.  He  went  into 
Hartford  for  a  short  time,  and  took  a  studio  there,  making  crayon 
portraits  of  his  friend  Mr.  Cushman,  a  miniature-painter,  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Bull  of  Hartford,  and  others.  These  drawings  are 
highly  prized  for  their  truth  and  beauty  as  likenesses. 

The  most  beautiful  picture  he  had  made  abroad  was  of  a  little 
beggar-girl  in  Rome,  of  which  he  made  a  copy  for  a  lady  in 
Hartford ;  the  original  is  at  the  homestead. 

In  the  winter  he  went  to  Brattleboro',  where  he  was  engaged 
in  making  drawings  for  Olney's  Geography,  but  he  returned  to 
Manchester  in  the  summer,  where  his  brothers  were  then  busy 
in  establishing  silk-mills.  He  visited  his  friend  Hills  at  Bur- 
lington, Vt.,  during  this  time. 

Hartford,  (May?)  10,  1841. 
Dear  Ward,  —  I  got  your  letter  only  in  time  to  write  to  Welles  & 
i  Co.,  at  Paris,  by  the  steamship  from  Boston,  of  the  18th,  but  I  think 

there  is  little  chance  of  securing  the  funds  now.  Remont's  execu- 
tions (?)  were  doubtless  false.  I  have  not  yet  had  the  pleasure  of  see- 
ing Monsieur ;  if  he  comes,  why  he  can  go  back  again,  with  his  labor 
for  his  pains. 


ARTISTIC  LIFE. 


03 


I  am  glad  to  see  you  write  in  such  good  spirits.  I  think  we  shall 
have  a  change  of  wind  by  and  by,  so  that  we  can  again  get  under  way, 
but  we  will  carry  less  sail  than  formerly,  and  keep  a  sharp  look-out  for 
shoals  and  quicksands. 

I  expected  Frank  up  from  New  York  to-day,  but  he  did  not  come. 
I  have  no  doubt  he  will  succeed  with  the  daguerreotype. 

I  came  over  here  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  am  doing  well  with  the 
crayon,  "patronized  by  the  nobility."  The  style  seems  to  take  very 
well  here,  and  I  shall  be  constantly  employed  for  some  months.  I 
want  to  get  time,  though,  to  come  and  make  a  group  of  those  two  boys 
of  yours  in  the  course  of  the  summer,  besides  making  a  drawing  of 
yourself  and  Caroline. 

Cushman  is  here  painting  miniatures,  and  doing  pretty  well;  he 
keeps  a  horse  and  carriage  here,  so  we  ride  out  home  Sundays,  when 
the  weather  is  good,  which,  by  the  way,  has  been  very  seldom  this 
spring ;  to-day  is  the  first  warm  Sunday  we  have  had  yet,  the  trees 
have  scarcely  begun  to  have  the  slightest  appearance  of  green  yet,  the 
water  is  very  high  in  the  river  from  the  melting  of  the  snows  above, 
and  altogether  it  has  been  one  of  the  most  disagreeable  springs  I  ever 
knew. 

The  Legislature  is  in  session  now,  so  there  is  great  discussion  of 
shad  at  our  table,  being  the  most  important  subject  discussed  by  the 
members  during  their  sojourn  here  ;  for  how  can  a  man  do  justice  with 
an  empty  stomach  %  This  was  no  doubt  the  reason  why  our  wise  ances- 
tors chose  this  most  propitious  shad  time  for  their  deliberations,  herein 
showing  their  profound  knowledge  of  human  nature. 

John,  I  believe,  intends  returning  to  Philadelphia,  this  week,  to 
finish  his  plates.  Write  me  soon  and  tell  all  the  news.  Love  to 
Carry.  Yours,  Sep. 

In  the  autumn  of  1841  he  went  to  Boston  with  the  determina- 
tion of  abandoning  engraving,  and  trying  his  fortune  in  portrait- 
ure. He  took  a  studio  in  Cornhill,  and  from  thence  he  appears 
to  have  written  this  letter  to  John,  although  it  is  only  dated 

Boston,  Jan.  28. 

Dear  J ohn,  —  As  I  am  confined  to  my  room  for  a  few  days  by  an 
inflammation  of  the  chest,  and  feel  rather  weak  from  loss  of  blood  and 


64 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


blistering  and  starving,  I  thought  I  could  not  better  employ  the  weary 
moments  than  by  writing  you  a  line. 

The  handwriting  shows  how  weak  he  was,  but  he  goes  on  after 
a  break,  with  a  firmer  touch. 

I  received  your  letter  a  day  after  I  wrote  you  last.  From  reading 
I  find  you  have  not  probably  got  my  last  in  relation  to  the  ruling- 
machine,'  which  will  occasion  another  delay  in  the  matter.  I  told  you 
then  that  from  what  Perkins  and  others  said  about  those  small 
machines,  like  Storm's,  that  I  should  not  order  one  until  I  heard  from 
you  again,  as  from  their  accounts  they  were  not  worth  having.  You 
will  consider  me  the  most  undecided  of  beings,  I  know,  but  recollect 
the  two  bumps  on  each  side  of  my  head. 

What  you  proposed  in  regard  to  the  remittance  to  mother  is  what 
I  have  been  trying  to  come  at  ever  since  I  came,  and  has  been  one  of 
the  greatest  motives  of  exertion,  but  found  it  utterly  impossible  till 
last  week  to  send  her  a  sou,  when  it  gave  me  real  satisfaction  to  enclose 
forty  dollars  [manuscript  illegible],  an  order  on  H.  Hudson  of  Hartford, 
....  which  is  due  me  for  a  portrait  I  have  taken  of  his  daughter.  I 
shall  be  able  to  send  some  more  next  week,  I  hope.  You  see,  when 
I  came  here,  I  had  little  more  than  five  dollars  in  my  pocket,  and  for 
nearly  two  months  I  received  nothing  for  what  I  had  done,  so  I  got 
drained  down  to  the  last  sixpence,  which  for  three  weeks  lay  solitary 
and  alone  in  my  poor  pocket  (I  dared  not  even  go  to  the  post-office), 
and  at  last  spent  three  cents  of  it  for  charcoal  to  begin  a  head,  for 
which  I  got  ten  dollars,  which  I  was  obliged  immediately  to  spend  for 
charcoal  to  keep  me  warm,  and  so  I  was  obliged  to  live  on  from  hand 
to  mouth,  board-bills  in  arrears,  and  clothes  ragged,  and  beginning  to 
grow  sick  at  heart,  and  think  it  a  losing  business,  and  wish  I  had  not 
risked,  but  I  gradually  began  to  get  my  head  out  of  water,  and  now,  if 
I  had  nerves  enough  left,  I  suppose  I  might  make  a  fortune,  for  no  one 
could  wish  a  better  prospect  than  I  have  now ;  but  alas  !  I  have  been 
a  fool,  —  squandered  my  strength,  so  that  a  little  over-exertion  pulls 
me  down.  But  enough  of  this,  —  I  have  only  mentioned  this  that  you 
might  not  think  I  had  neglected  and  forgot  past  favors  and  obligations, 
and  withheld  my  hand  when  I  had  the  power  to  help. 

I  am  glad  to  hear  through  Clark  that  Ward  is  getting  settled  again 
in  Philadelphia.    I  hope  he  will  succeed  to  his  satisfaction.    I  hear, 


ARTISTIC  LIFE. 


65 


too,  that  Rush  proposes  to  join  you  in  engraving.  I  have  no  doubt  he 
will  do  well. 

P.  S.  I  shall  probably  go  to  work  again  on  Monday. 

Wednesday  [postmarked,  Jan.  29]. 

Dear  Mother,  —  This  is  the  first  opportunity  I  have  had  of  send- 
ing anything  to  you.  When  I  first  came  I  had  but  little  to  do  and 
gained  but  little,  and  was  obliged  to  spend  all  to  meet  my  immediate 
wants ;  now  it  is  otherwise,  my  prospects  are  good.  I  have  already 
engagements  to  the  amount  of  nearly  $1,000,  and  increasing  every  day  ; 
my  room  is  thronged  with  visitors  of  the  first  class  and  the  rich,  so 
I  hope  to  be  able  in  the  course  of  the  year  to  be  a  little  more  free.  I 
will  send  more  in  a  few  days.  My  health  is  good,  able  to  work  all  day  ; 
no  time  to  say  more  now.  Sep. 

These  touching  letters  thus  simply  tell  the  story  of  his  last 
struggle  with  poverty.  He  was  indeed  almost  despairing,  and 
was  just  about  to  write  to  John  that 'he  would  give  up  the  effort 
at  drawing,  and  join  him  in  engraving  at  Philadelphia,  when 
relief  came.  The  lady  for  whom  he  had  made  a  copy  of  his 
beggar-girl  wrote  to  Mrs.  Dr.  Putnam  of  Boston,  begging  her  to 
go  and  see  the  artist ;  she  did  so,  and  gave  him  a  commission  for 
a  portrait.  The  work  was  so  thoroughly  satisfactory  that  from 
this  time  Mrs.  Putnam  became  one  of  his  warmest  friends,  and 
he  was  at  once  introduced  to  the  most  refined  and  intelligent 
society  of  Boston,  who  appreciated  his  genius  and  gave  him 
more  commissions  than  he  could  execute. 

Boston,  Sunday,  Jan.  18,  1842. 

Dear  John,  —  I  wrote  you  some  weeks  ago  about  the  machine.  I 
have  been  expecting  every  day  since  to  hear  from  you,  and  have  got 
out  of  patience  at  last  and  determined  to  write  you  ;  let  me  know  what 
you  have  concluded  to  do  in  regard  to  the  machine.  I  am  afraid  I 
have  been  too  undecided  about  it  myself. 

I  am  very  busy  now,  and  shall  be  for  the  winter ;  have  under  way 
and  engaged  work  to  the  amount  of  $700  and  coming  thicker  and 
faster  every  day.  Mothers  have  got  crazy  about  their  children.  The 
greater  number  of  my  commissions  are  for  children  and  boys  and  girls,  — 

5 


66 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


beautiful  girls.  This  is  excellent  study  for  me,  besides  being  very  agree- 
able. I  shall  learn  pretty  thoroughly,  by  such  practice,  the  manage- 
ment of  the  head  in  drawing.  I  have  laid  by  the  palette  entirely.  I 
could  not  possibly  have  succeeded  so  well  with  that,  for  the  novelty  of 
the  drawings  goes  a  good  way  with  many.  Most  of  my  commissions  are 
from  the  "  big  folks  "  here.  I  often  go  to  their  houses  to  draw,  and 
have  a  good  chance  to  see  what  the  "world  is  made  of." 

Electa  is  in  good  health  and  spirits,  is  learning  to  draw.  I  think 
she  will  succeed  well.  Gallaudet  has  a  plate  under  way  and  seems  in 
better  spirits. 

The  weather  has  been  fine  so  far,  this  winter,  here ;  I  have  suffered 
but  little  with  cold,  I  think  never  less  even  in  Italy.  How  has  it  been 
in  Philadelphia,  and  how  are  you  all  ?  Has  Ward  removed  yet  to  the 
city  1  I  want  to  know  all  about  mother  and  things  there,  and  what 
you  are  engaged  on  at  present.  I  hope  that  I  shall  by  and  by  make 
something  fit  for  you  to  engrave,  but  as  yet  I  can't  say  that  I  have 
anything  satisfactory.    Do  write  soon.  Sep. 

Dr.  Lardner  is  lecturing  here ;  gave  one  last  night  at  the  theatre, 
which  was  jammed ;  commences  a  course  at  the  Melodeon  to-morrow. 
He  is  altogether  the  greatest  lecturer  I  have  ever  heard,  handles  the 
subject  in  the  most  masterly  manner.  I  wish  Frank  was  here.  What 
is  Cushman  about  now  ?    Eemember  me  to  him. 

The  life  in  the  dingy  studio  was  not  uncheered  by  friendship 
and  the  sympathy  of  fellow-students.    Mr.  Gould  writes :  — 

"  I  saw  Seth  Cheney  for  the  first  time  at  his  studio  in  Cornhill, 
Boston,  a  few  doors  from  Court  Street.  Alpheus  Morse  introduced  me 
to  a  tall  spare  man,  of  a  leonine  blond  complexion,  light-brown  hair 
falling  in  curls  to  the  shoulders,  high  forehead,  eyes  large,  blue,  and 
shady,  a  quivering  sensibility  in  the  cheeks  while  the  mouth  and  chin 
were  firm  and  still.  He  wore  no  beard.  His  large  bony  hand  grasped 
mine.  This  was  my  friend.  What  I  felt  then,  but  did  not  know  till 
afterward,  was  a  certain  continent  sweetness  in  his  disposition,  which 
gave  more  and  withheld  more  than  any  other. 

"  There  was  in  that  room  an  extemporized  evening  drawing  school, 
without  official  head  (the  grandest  head  there  declining  the  position), 
and  Morse,  with  his  natural  eye  for  form  and  optimistic  good  temper, 
laughing  his  criticisms.    A  handsome  young  fellow  with  Greek  profile, 


ARTISTIC  LIFE. 


67 


Freeman  by  name,  who  was  drowned  soon  after,  and  others  met  there 
to  draw.  The  stairway  was  lighted  by  a  candle  stuck  into  a  skull.  I 
once  brought  up  little  Forrester  Anderson,  grandson  of  Pelby  the  actor, 
as  a  model.  He  drew  a  man  as  children  do.  1  Now  make  his  boots,' 
said  Seth,  bending  over  him  with  loving  humor.  The  child  obeyed. 
1  Heels,'  added  Seth,  —  '  and  now,  nails.' 

"  John,  Seth,  and  I  went  often  to  the  theatre  together,  and  were  fond 
even  of  the  circus,  where  fine  figures  were  to  be  seen.  One  evening 
found  us  standing  with  negroes  and  sailors  in  the  gallery  of  the  How- 
ard Athenaeum,  just  under  the  roof  (Seth  in  a  blue  cloak  which  had 
crossed  the  Atlantic  six  times),  ravished  by  the  tearful  voice  of  stout 
Alboni  in  La  Sonnambula. 

"  We  met  at  the  gymnasium  and  frequented  the  bowling-alley  in 
company.  Once  he  sent  a  ball  that  struck  out  two  pins,  and  struck 
the  canvas  behind  with  a  solid  blow.  He  put  up  both  hands,  exclaim- 
ing, '  That  hurts  my  head.'  Again  he  forgot  his  turn,  using  the  scoring 
chalk  in  a  sketch  on  the  wooden  partition." 

Mr.  Morse  also  remembers  with  affectionate  pleasure  these 
days  when  they  interchanged  lessons.  He  once  invited  Seth  to 
visit  his  home,  and  Seth  drew  a  portrait  of  his  mother  which  Dr. 
Frothingham  called  the  finest  head  he  ever  saw.  It  was  the  first 
thing  he  exhibited  at  one  of  the  annual  Athenaeum  Exhibitions, 
and  attracted  much  attention. 

They  attended  Hudson's  gymnasium  together,  and  Morse  was 
astonished  at  the  muscular  power  of  one  who  seemed  so  delicate, 
and  who  often  complained  of  his  head  and  lungs.  Seth  made  a 
drawing  of  the  fine,  bold  head  of  Hudson,  which  was  also  ex- 
hibited. 

All  who  knew  him  at  this  time  speak  of  the  wonderful  beauty 
of  his  face  and  the  charm  of  his  presence.  He  was  welcomed 
into  the  best  society,  and  formed  tender  and  lasting  friendships, 
but  he  remained  ever  as  pure  and  simple  and  unconscious  as  in 
his  boyhood. 

He  worked  very  hard,  and  his  friends  were  astonished  at  what 
he  accomplished,  in  spite  of  his  frequent  ill-health.    "  0,  how 


68 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


I  have  longed  for  health  ! "  he  said,  in  thinking  of  all  he  had 
wished  to  do  in  art.  There  is  a  list  in  one  of  his  account-bopks 
of  over  one  hundred  and  fifty  heads,  under  the  dates  1841  and 
1842.  Although  this  list  probably  covers  the  period  up  to  his 
leaving  for  Europe  again,  in  July,  1843,  yet  probably  many 
things  are  omitted,  and  it  certainly  is  a  great  deal  of  work  for 
two  years.  The  list  of  his  sitters  includes  the  names  of 
Lowell,  Jackson,  Gray,  Putnam,  Appleton,  Bowditch,  Forbes, 
Perkins,  Dixwell,  Ward,  Lawrence,  Winthrop,  Goddard,  Higgin- 
son,  and  others  well  known  in  Boston.  The  portraits  of  Mrs. 
Horace  Gray,  and  of  Miss  Appleton,  a  very  young  girl,  were 
engraved  by  his  brother,  for  annuals.  His  prices  at  this  time 
ranged  from  ten  to  fifty  dollars.  There  is  an  exquisite  beauty 
in  these  early  portraits,  unsurpassed  even  by  the  work  of  his 
later  life,  in  perception  of  character  and  spiritual  grace.  His 
execution  was  free  and  delicate,  and  it  seemed  as  if  his  spirit 
had  breathed  itself  into  form  on  the  paper.  As  in  the  music  of 
the  violin  the  least  possible  material  means  seemed  necessary  to 
convey  his  thought.  It  was  of  this  time  that  Theodore  Parker 
wrote  thus  in  his  journal :  — 

"  About  1840  Miss  Burley  told  me  of  the  fine  genius  and  finer 
moral  endowments  of  Mr.  Cheney.  He  made  some  crayons  for  her 
family  then,  which  I  admired  much.  In  1841  or  1842  Mr.  George 
Russell  sat  in  another  artist's  room,  and  heard  a  conversation  in  the 
next  apartment,  relative  to  the  sermon  of  '  The  Transient  and  Perma- 
nent in  Christianity.'  One  was  attacking  it  and  its  author.  Mr.  R. 
learned  that  the  defender  was  Mr.  Cheney,  an  artist  with  fine  genius. 
I  was  surprised  to  find  an  artist  who  thought  enough  about  religion  to 
venture  from  the  beaten  paths  of  theology,  and  still  more  to  find  he 
was  from  the  heart  of  Connecticut."  * 

Seth  was  fully  interested  in  the  thought  and  feeling  of  that 
time.    He  was  entirely  in  sympathy  with  the  transcendental 


*  Weiss,  Life  of  Parker,  vol.  i.  p.  291. 


ARTISTIC  LIFE. 


69 


movement,  which  harmonized  with  his  lofty  idealism  and  pure 
religious  sentiment,  and  he  was  intimate  with  many  of  those 
engaged  in  it.  He  frequently  attended  Mr.  W.  H.  Channing's 
religious  services,  and  once  left  his  room  with  the  intention  of 
joining  the  society,  but  some  doubts  as  to  his  full  agreement 
with  the  views  of  the  Associationists  prevented  him  from  doing 
so.  He  attended  the  conversations  at  Miss  E.  P.  Peabody's,  and 
had  great  delight  in  Mr.  Emerson's  lectures. 

His  pictures  at  this  time,  especially  his  heads  of  women,  seem 
to  express  the  very  spirit  of  this  epoch. 

In  1843  Seth  again  went  to  Europe.  He  had  been  very  suc- 
cessful in  his  drawing,  and  found  abundant  employment  at 
home,  but  he  yearned  for  opportunities  of  study  and  artistic 
employment  in  Europe,  and  there  was  now  nothing  in  his  cir- 
cumstances to  prevent  his  indulging  his  inclinations,  as  he  had 
earned  enough  by  his  work  to  pay  his  expenses,  and  his  family 
were  no  longer  in  need  of  assistance. 

He  always  considered  it  advantageous  for  an  artist  to  go  fre- 
quently to  Europe,  when  he  felt  his  own  defects  and  difficulties 
in  art,  that  he  might  learn  from  the  great  masters  there ;  but  he 
thought  his  own  country  the  true  place  for  work.  As  we  for- 
tunately possess  several  letters  written  during  this  journey,  I  can 
tell  the  story  of  it  mainly  in  his  own  words. 

London,  July  23, 1843. 

Dear  John,  —  We  had  a  pleasant  voyage  of  nineteen  days  to 
Portsmouth,  so  short  that  I  can  hardly  realize  that  I  am  in  London, 
when  I  think  of  the  long  passages  that  I  have  made  across  the  At- 
lantic. Nothing  happened  to  mention  during  the  voyage,  which  to 
me  was  a  perfect  blank  in  existence,  as  I  wished  it  to  be.  I  had  no 
pain  in  this  head  of  mine  while  on  the  water,  and  very  little  after  I 
landed,  as  I  always  have  for  a  few  days  after  a  voyage. 

I  found  Huntington  here  and  Van  Bright.  I  have  a  room  next  to 
them  here  in  Salisbury  St.  Strand,  not  far  from  Charing  Cross,  which 
is  a  much  more  convenient  part  of  London  than  the  vicinity  of  Fitz- 


70 


MEMOIR  OP  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


roy  Square,  where  I  formerly  was.  Van  Bright  goes  home  the  first  of 
August. 

Huntington  goes  to  the  Continent  in  two  or  three  weeks,  and  will 
pass  the  winter  there  in  Italy.  I  wonder  if  I  can  resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  accompany  him ;  it  is  doubtful.  I  have  not  made  up  my 
mind  to  any  place  distinctly,  yet,  if  I  should  feel  pretty  brave,  I  shall 
probably  go  with  him  ;  if  not,  shall  return,  as  I  intended,  in  the  fall. 

Our  old  friend  Terry  is  still  in  Italy,  and  expects  to  meet  us  the 
first  of  September  in  Venice,  where  he  intends  spending  a  short  time, 
and  then  returning  to  Rome  again  for  the  winter.  I  confess  the 
thought  of  being  again  amongst  those  beautiful  works  of  art,  with 
the  same  companions,  is  glorious,  —  too  much  for  one  poor  mortal  to 
enjoy  twice,  I  fear. 

I  arrived  in  season  to  see  the  Exhibition  at  the  Royal  Academy  ;  it 
will  be  open  a  week  longer.  I  think  it  much  like  the  other  exhibi- 
tions I  have  seen  there  ;  nothing  great.  Turner  is  more  extravagant 
than  ever  in  his  landscapes.  Except  a  picture  of  Eastlake's,  "  Hagar 
and  Ishmael,"  I  don't  recollect  one  that  gave  me  much  pleasure. 

I  have  been  delighted  with  the  collection  in  the  British  Institution. 
The  large  room  is  filled  with  some  of  the  most  beautiful  of  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds's  works ;  there  is  the  "  Strawberry  Girl,"  full  of  nature,  and 
the  "  Girl  Sleeping,"  and  a  dozen  other  most  exquisite  things.  What 
I  have  seen  there  gives  me  a  higher  idea  than  I  had  of  him,  —  much. 

There  are  also  some  fine  Cuyps  and  one  or  two  Claudes,  and  many 
others  by  old.  masters.  Those  landscapes  of  Claude's  in  the  National 
Gallery  look  to  me  more  glowing  than  ever. 

I  went  to  Dulwich  the  other  day  ;  started  in  a  tremendous  shower. 
What  beautiful  Cuyps  there  are  here,  so  light  and  sunny  !  The  soul  of 
Cuyp  came  to  the  earth  on  a  sunbeam.  Is  that  sublime  or  ridicu- 
lous ]  When  I  came  out  of  the  Gallery  the  sky  was  clear  and  pleas- 
ant, and  I  saw  in  nature  more  glorious  things  than  in  Cuyp. 

Dan  [Huntington]  and  I  went  to  Hampton  Court  to  see  the  car- 
toons. Burnet  gives  a  capital  idea  of  them  in  those  etchings  you  have ; 
they  are  not  so  much  finished  as  I  expected  to  find  them,  but  seem 
done  with  a  great  deal  of  spirit.  I  saw  yesterday  Mr.  Sheepshanks's 
collection  of  modern  pictures  ;  he  has  some  of  Mulready's  and  Leslie's. 
Mulready  is  certainly  the  best  artist  in  England,  —  perhaps  I  should 
except  Eastlake,  whose  style  is  higher.    Mr.  Vernon,  too,  has  a  fine 


ARTISTIC  LIFE. 


71 


collection  of  modern  works,  which  I  saw  to-day.  Mr.  Leslie  gave  me 
a  card  of  admission. 

I  accidentally  found  our  old  friend  Dubourjal  here  soon  after  I 
came ;  he  is  well,  says  he  has  not  much  to  do  in  Paris.  I  have  per- 
suaded him  to  go  to  Boston,  —  he  will  probably  sail  in  September.  I 
think  he  will  do  well  there,  don't  you  1  I  know  you  will  like  to  see 
him  ;  you  can  be  of  great  use  to  him  in  introducing  him  to  some  of 
our  friends  there.  He  intends  to  return  to  Paris  next  week,  and  give 
up  his  room,  and  sell  what  he  does  not  want  there,  and  sail  from 
Havre,  August  2d. 

I  sent  a  roll  of  paper  by  the  Victoria,  Captain  Morgan,  which  will 
be  left  on  board  till  called  for.  Ward  will  probably  know  when  she 
arrives.  I  could  not  get  the  tints  I  wanted,  exactly.  Kimberley 
wanted  some  of  it ;  I  got  it  here  for  eight  shillings  a  quire.  I 
intended  to  have  sent  some  casts,  but  they  are  not  dry,  so  shall  post- 
pone it  till  I  return  here  next  year.  By  the  way,  I  have  not  told 
you,  Dan,  his  wife,  and  I  have  engaged  our  passage  in  the  steamer  for 
Antwerp  to-morrow  morning.  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  return, 
after  coming  so  far,  without  seeing  some  of  the  fine  things  on  the  Con- 
tinent. We  intend  going  by  the  Rhine  to  Basle  and  Geneva,  to 
cross  the  Simplon,  and  return  by  the  way  of  Dresden  and  Vienna.  I 
thought,  for  the  sake  of  company,  I  preferred  to  take  this  route  ;  the 
others  can  be  passed  at  all  seasons,  which  is  not  the  case  with  the 
Simplon  pass. 

I  wrote  mother  by  the  Mediator  of  the  20th  July,  from  Portsmouth ; 
hope  you  are  all  well.  I  shall  not  hear  from  you  till  I  get  to  Florence, 
where  I  have  directed  your  letters  to  be  sent  after  I  leave  here. 
Direct  clearly  to  care  of  Baring  Brothers  &  Co.,  London. 

I  was  disappointed  in  not  getting  a  word  from  you  by  the  steamer. 
We  heard  with  deep  regret  of  the  death  of  Allston.  Two  of  the 
brightest  stars  have  set  within  the  last  year,  Channing  and  Allston ; 
but  such  men  cannot  be  said  to  die,  for  their  influence  on  us  is  perhaps 
greater  after  they  have  left  our  earth.  We  bless  the  sun  for  the  deep 
and  solemn  twilight  he  leaves  behind  him. 

Aug.  3,  1843. 

Left  London  this  morning  at  12  J  o'clock,  in  steamer  Soho,  bound 
for  Antwerp,  in  company  with  H.  [Huntington]  and  wife.  I  was 
happy  to  escape  the  turmoil  and  smoke  of  London.    Deliver  us  from 


72 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


great  cities ;  there  is  no  peace  nor  quiet  in  them ;  besides,  I  like  a 
climate  where  the  sun  shines  one  whole  day  in  a  year,  which  I  have 
not  seen  here. 

4th.  —  Going  on  deck  this  morning,  saw  the  lofty  spire  of  Antwerp 
Cathedral  towering  above  the  low,  flat  country.  After  being  detained  on 
board  about  two  hours  for  the  agreeable  purpose  of  having  our  baggage 
overhauled  by  the  custom-house  officers,  we  landed,  and  here  we  are 
at  the  Hotel  St.  Antoine.  The  first  object  of  curiosity  is  R.ubens's 
famous  picture  of  the  "Descent  from  the  Cross,"  the  design  of  which  is 
taken  from  the  fresco  of  Daniello  del  Volterra,  in  Rome,  but,  with  all 
its  gorgeous  color  and  effect  of  reality,  to  me  far  less  elevated  and  im- 
posing than  the  fresco.  In  the  church  of  St.  Jacques,  over  the  tomb 
of  Eubens,  is  a  picture  of  his  representing  the  Holy  Family,  containing 
the  portraits  of  himself  and  family.  This  picture  has  less  of  the  gross- 
ness  of  the  painter,  and  is  touched  with  more  delicacy,  but  in  all  there 
is  a  want  of  that  elevated  sentiment  and  refinement  which  throws 
such  a  charm  over  the  works  of  the  divine  Raphael.  In  the  Museum 
there  are  many  of  Rubens's  pictures.  The  "  Christ  crucified  between 
two  Thieves  "  is  altogether  the  most  horrible  picture  I  ever  saw.  The 
executioner  is  in  the  act  of  breaking  the  legs  of  one  of  the  two 
thieves,  who,  in  his  last  agony,  tears  his  feet  from  the  nails  that  hold 
them  to  the  cross.  The  expression  of  his  face  haunts  you  forever.  I 
wish  never  to  see  another  of  his  pictures.  I  confess  I  have  never  seen 
a  religious  subject  of  his  that  excited  in  me  the  slightest  devotional 
feeling. 

Brussels,  5th.  —  Last  night  we  arrived  here  by  the  railroad,  about 
nine  o'clock,  and  being  obliged  to  stop  here  to  get  our  passports  signed 
by  the  different  ministers,  we  in  the  mean  time  went  to  the  field  of 
Waterloo,  situated  about  twelve  miles  from  the  city.  The  high  mound 
raised  over  the  spot  where  the  Prince  of  Orange  fell  is  the  most  con- 
spicuous object  in  the  field.  The  ground  is  slightly  undulating,  the 
field  waving  with  rich  grain.  I  gathered  a  few  flowers  and  a  wheat- 
head  for  you,  Electa,  for  here  blossom  flowers  even  on  the  field  of 
strife. 

Liege,  Qth,  Sunday.  —  Left  Brussels  about  five  o'clock  last  night, 
and  arrived  here  at  nine,  a  distance  of  sixty  miles  by  railroad,  over  a 
flat  country  and  highly  cultivated.  Liege  is  an  old  town,  beautifully 
situated  in  the  valley  of  the  Meuse.    My  companion  de  voyage  having 


ARTISTIC  LIFE. 


73 


conscientious  scruples  in  regard  to  Sunday  travelling,  we  rest  here  to- 
day. This  afternoon  we  have  taken  a  stroll  about  the  town,  and 
ascended  the  height  that  overlooks  the  city,  and  saw  the  sun  set 
beautifully  over  it. 

Aix  la  Chapelle,  8tk.  —  We  came  here  en  vetturin,  and  a  most 
delightful  ride  we  had  of  six  hours,  through  the  richest  fields  of  ripe 
wheat  I  ever  saw  in  any  country.  The  farmers  appeared  to  be  in  the 
midst  of  harvest,  standing  sheaves  and  ripe  fields,  ready  for  the  sickle  ; 
the  landscape  varied  with  beautiful  distance. 

Cologne,  8th.  —  Arrived  about  two  o'clock  last  evening,  by  railroad, 
from  Aix  la  Chapelle,  and  stopped  at  the  Bellevue  Hotel  on  the  oppo- 
site side,  from  which  we  had  a  fine  view  of  Cologne  and  the  Rhine  by 
a  beautiful  moonlight.  This  morning  we  have  walked  over  the  city 
and  seen  its  magnificent  Cathedral.  Though  unfinished,  it  is  one  of 
the  most  pure  and  beautiful  Gothic  churches  on  the  Continent,  or  per- 
haps in  the  world.  After  this  we  went  to  the  Museum  to  see  Bende- 
mann's  picture,  "  By  the  waters  of  Babylon  we  sat  down  and  wept." 
This  is  one  of  the  finest  of  modern  pictures.  I  would  rather  have 
been  the  painter  of  this  one  picture  than  all  that  Rubens  has  ever 
done.  Arrived  about  sunset  at  Coblentz,  situated  at  the  confluence  of 
the  Rhine  and  Moselle.  This  is  one  of  the  most  picturesque  points 
on  the  river. 

To-day,  the  9th,  having  time,  before  the  boat  left  for  Mayence,  I 
wandered  alone  across  the  beautiful  bridge  of  the  Moselle  and  along 
its  banks.  I  was  reminded  of  the  scenes  on  the  Connecticut, 
but  farther  up  I  believe  it  is  more  precipitous.  Returning  through 
Coblentz,  I  met  some  of  the  most  beautiful  children  playing  about  the 
streets  that  I  have  seen  for  a  long  time.  By  the  way,  I  was  not 
pleased  with  the  English  children.  There  is  too  much  of  the  archness 
that  we  sometimes  see  in  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  pictures  of  them,  and 
which  does  not  suit  the  character  of  children.  As  we  get  along 
towards  the  Alps,  I  observe  more  natural  grace  in  the  women,  and 
seldom  see  "  put-on  airs."  I  am  constantly  meeting  with  that  simpli- 
city so  pleasing  and  so  well  expressed  in  the  German  pictures.  Every 
action  to  the  mind  of  the  observer  conveys  an  idea  of  expression. 
Crossing  the  Rhine  on  the  bridge  of  boats,  we  ascended  the  heights  of 
Ehrenbreitstein.  From  this  point  we  have  a  glorious  prospect.  It 
will  be  absurd  for  me  to  attempt  to  describe  this  noble  river,  which  far 


74 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


surpasses  in  grandeur  any  that  I  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  see.  I 
say  this  independent  of  its  associations.  We  have  seen  it  under  much 
more  favorable  circumstances  than  before.  The  weather  has  been  fine 
and  clear  since  we  came  on  the  river,  and  to-day,  the  10th  of  August, 
the  weather  is  perfectly  serene  and  calm.  In  fact,  since  we  left  Eng- 
land, the  skies  have  become  every  day  more  bright.  While  I  was  in 
England  I  suffered  terribly  from  depression  of  spirits.  I  attributed  it 
partly  to  the  foggy,  wet,  and  pent-up  atmosphere  of  that  country;  *  for 
as  I  gradually  approach  a  more  sunny  clime,  and  breathe  the  pure  air, 
and  can  look  up  to  the  mountains  and  the  blue  sky  beyond,  I  feel  a 
great  load  lifted  from  my  sad  heart,  and  begin  again  to  enjoy  existence, 
to  see  some  bright  spots  and  glimpses  of  happiness,  where  all  before 
seemed  dark  and  a  desert. 

We  came  to  Mayence  in  the  evening,  and  went  immediately  on  board 
of  a  night  boat  bound  for  Strasburg.  It  was  a  soft  moonlight,  and 
the  passage  through  a  flat  country  a  perfect  contrast  to  what  we  have 
passed  below,  and  after  the  excitement  of  the  scenes  during  the  day  an 
agreeable  repose.  We  arrived  at  Mannheim  early  in  the  morning,  and 
H.,  going  on  deck  after  the  passengers  for  that  place  had  landed,  missed 
one  of  his  trunks  containing  forty  sovereigns  in  gold,  many  of  his 
sketches  and  prints,  with  books  and  clothes,  in  all  to  the  amount  of 
about  three  hundred  dollars.  It  was  probably  taken  through  mistake 
by  some  of  the  passengers.  H.  had  time  to  give  a  description  of  it 
to  the  agent  of  the  boat  on  shore,  who  promised  to  send  it  to  Stras- 
burg by  the  next  boat.  Though  he  had  but  little  hope  of  recovering 
it,  yet  it  arrived  safe  the  next  day,  as  promised. 

Our  boat  having  broken  a  paddle-wheel  through  the  carelessness  of 
the  pilot's  running  too  near  the  shore,  we  arrived  late,  about  ten,  at 
Strasburg.  Wandering  about  this  morning,  we  find  it  one  of  the  most 
picturesque  old  towns  I  have  seen.  The  Cathedral,  you  know,  is 
famous.  Crossing  the  market-place,  we  were  attracted  by  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  women  we  ever  recollected  to  have  seen.  She  was 
sitting  with  a  child  in  her  arms,  and  was  one  of  the  market-women. 
There  was  something  in  this  face  that  I  have  never  seen  in  pictures, 
not  even  in  Eaphael,  —  a  most  finely  chiselled  mouth  and  nose,  not 


*  At  a  later  period  of  life  he  liked  the  English  climate  except  in  autumn,  and 
thought  he  felt  well  there.    I  think  England  is  not  the  country  of  youth. 


ARTISTIC  LIFE. 


75 


too  much  roundness,  but  all  exquisitely  denned ;  neither  was  there  too 
much  of  the  Grecian  in  the  line  of  the  face.  This  morning  heard 
grand  mass  in  the  Cathedral.  None  can  be  unmoved  at  the  sublime 
effect  produced  by  the  chanting  of  the  mass  in  one  of  these  old  Gothic 
churches ;  the  innocent  voices  of  boys,  the  rougher  tones  of  the  priest, 
murmuring  with  the  deep  diapason  of  the  vast  organ,  remind  us  of 
that  sublime  mass  that  nature  pours  forth  in  the  mingled  song  of 
birds,  the  gurgling  of  murmuring  brooks,  in  the  rushing  winds  and 
the  roar  of  the  ocean. 

• 

Geneva,  Aug.  21. 

We  came  here  Thursday  by  the  way  of  Basle  and  the  Lake 
Neufchatel,  Lausanne,  and  Lake  Geneva ;  since  then  have  been  to 
Chamouni,  and  ascended  the  Mont  Cevennes,  and  have  walked  on  the 
Mer  de  Glace.  Of  course  ft  will  be  perfectly  ridiculous  for  me  to 
describe  these  scenes.  On  the  top  of  Mont  Cevennes  I  bought  a  snuff- 
box for  mother,  made  of  agate  from  one  of  the  high  points  of  the  Mer 
de  Glace. 

After  resting  here  a  few  days,  we  intend  crossing  the  Alps.  I  have 
not  heard  a  word  from  home  since  I  left ;  sometimes  wish  I  was  there. 
Let  me  hear  from  you  as  often  as  I  can.  I  wish  I  could  do  justice  to 
the  scenes  I  pass  through  in  description,  but  I  have  no  words.  Hope 
you  will  excuse  the  meagre  account. 

In  giving  these  letters  and  other  descriptions  of  people  and 
pictures  just  as  they  are  written,  it  must  be  remembered  that 
letters  are  always  the  expression  of  a  mood,  not  the  well-con- 
sidered criticism  of  permanent  thought.  Eubens  never  was  a 
favorite  with  Seth.  He  could  not  find  a  congenial  mind  in 
him,  yet  he  often  dwelt  with  pleasure  at  a  later  period  on  his 
acknowledged  excellences  in  coloring,  especially  in  landscape. 
He  once  said  he  would  like  to  take  from  Eubens's  pictures  in 
the  Louvre  hands  and  other  parts  full  of  technical  beauties. 
Eubens  was  an  able  painter,  not  a  great  artist. 

His  friend  Morse  had  gone  to  Italy  the  preceding  year,  and 
was  then  in  Florence  with  the  family  of  Mr.  Clevenger,  the 
sculptor,  who  was  ill  and  poor.    Their  means  were  almost  wholly 


76 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


gone,  when  Mr.  Cheney  arrived  in  Florence,  and  was  hailed  with 
the  greatest  joy.  He  at  once  shared  his  funds  with  his  brother 
artists. 

A  delightful  party  was  formed  to  go  to  Rome  together  by 
Vettura,  —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  H.  K.  Brown,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Huntington, 
Mr.  Freeman,  Mr.  Terry,  Mr.  De  Vaux  a  Southern  artist  who 
died  early,  Mr.  Morse,  and  Mr.  Cheney.  Those  of  the  party  still 
living  look  back  to  it  as  one  of  the  richest  and  happiest  pas- 
sages of  life.  They  saw  a  beautiful  peasant  girl  at  Lake  Bolsena, 
and  almost  frightened  her  out  of  her  senses  by  their  eagerness 
to  make  drawings  of  her. 

At  Rome,  Morse,  De  Vaux,  and  Seth  lived  together  in  an  old 
street  leading  from  the  Corso,  where  they  had  delightful  times, 
sometimes  studying,  and  sometimes  practising  the  art  of  cooking 
maccaroni,  as  learned  from  their  Italian  cook. 

An  American  gentleman,  finding  that  the  English,  Germans, 
and  French  had  their  life  schools,  furnished  money  enough  to  sup- 
port an  American  school  for  several  years.  This  was  the  last  year 
of  its  existence,  but  our  artists  profited  well  by  it.  The  teacher 
was  Ferrero,  and  his  clear,  exact  lessons  were  always  remembered 
by  Seth  with  great  gratitude.  He  laid  great  stress  upon  exactness 
and  delicacy  in  outline,  often  revealing  to  them  the  nice  expres- 
sion of  slight  variations  in  the  form.  He  also  laid  great  stress 
on  the  focussing  of  light  and  shadow  so  that  the  effect  should 
be  clear.  Seth  often  recalled  the  "  troppo  confuso,"  which  was 
the  old  man's  most  frequent  criticism  of  his  work,  and  he  would 
often  say,  "  Every  shadow  has  its  darkest  point,  every  light  its 
brightest."  Ferrero  was  a  fine  anatomist,  and  his  plate  illustrat- 
ing the  anatomy  and  proportions  of  the  human  figure  was  Seth's 
constant  study  to  the  end  of  his  life. 

He  made  a  drawing  of  the  daughter  of  Camuccini,  the 
painter,  which  was  engraved  by  his  brother. 


ARTISTIC  LIFE. 


77 


Florence,  Sept.  2.1. 

Dear  John,  —  I  wrote  you  last  from  Geneva.  Since  then  I  have 
kept  no  notes  of  my  journey.  We  arrived  here  on  the  15th,  exactly 
four  years  from  the  time  we  came  here  before. 

I  have  suffered  somewhat  from  depression  of  spirits,  which  I  attribute 
to  the  fatigue  of  travelling  and  the  irregularity  of  living  one  is  sub- 
jected to  while  on  the  road.  After  resting  sometime  I  shall  be  all 
right  again.  I  found  Brown  and  wife  here  very  comfortably  situated. 
He  is  full  of  commissions  for  copies  and  originals,  and  has  improved 
very  much.  I  have  been  to  Powers's  studio  to-day ;  the  Eve  is  cer- 
tainly a  beautiful  statue.  There  was  a  bust  for  Mr.  Carey,  of  Proser- 
pine, which  I  like  as  well  too.  I  am  glad  it  goes  to  America.  Morse 
is  here,  and  intends  spending  the  winter  here  in  Florence.  Poor 
Clevenger  sailed  last  week  from  Leghorn,  but  from  all  accounts  it 
seems  doubtful  whether  he  ever  reaches  home,  on  account  of  his  ill- 
health.  There  are  a  good  many  American  artists  here  now.  There 
will  be  in  Rome  this  winter  from  fifteen  to  twenty. 

These  works  of  Eaphael  look  more  beautiful  than  ever  to  me,  and 
the  sight  of  them  well  pays  the  long  journey  to  see  them  ;  and  Flor- 
ence, too,  is  a  delightful  place.  I  wish  you  were  here,  John,  to  enjoy 
it.  The  weather  is  clear  and  fine,  the  air  soft  and  balmy,  which  dis- 
poses the  mind  to  reverie  and  repose ;  but  I  am  changed  since  I  was 
here  before,  —  I  look  at  things  with  a  more  serious  eye,  and  not  with 
the  same  boyish  enthusiasm  as  formerly.  I  seem  to  have  grown  sud- 
denly old,  and  the  past  seems  a  dream,  the  present  only  the  reality. 
The  recollection  of  the  past  seems  more  agreeable  than  the  present, 
but  perhaps  the  present  may  bring  more  good,  for  I  have  been  led 
to  examine  myself  and  look  back  to  scrutinize  the  motives  of  action ; 
I  find,  with  regret,  they  have  not  always  been  the  highest. 

I  am  disposed  now  to  think  that  a  belief  in  a  "Divinity  that 
shapes  our  ends  "  must  tend  to  elevate  our  thoughts  and  actions,  and 
give  us  that  peace  of  mind  which  we  search  after  so  long,  and  find  not 
elsewhere.  How  I  envy  the  peace  of  the  humble  believer  I  see  kneel 
at  the  altar  of  his  God,  and  offer  up  his  prayers  and  thanks  to  the 
Giver  of  all  Good,  and  go  to  his  hard  daily  toil  with  a  calm  and  quiet 
conscience,  trusting  that  whatever  his  fate  may  be,  some  wise  purpose 
is  intended  and  iD  the  end  must  be  the  best !  I  shall,  after  all  my  doubt- 
ing, become  a  firm  believer,  and  I  hope  a  good  Christian.    May  God 


78 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


grant  it !  I  am  persuaded  nothing  else  can  satisfy  this  restless  spirit ; 
in  whatever  circumstances,  I  have  been  always  unsatisfied.  This  be- 
lief and  trust  will,  I  hope,  produce  the  desired  repose. 

I  am  coming  gradually  to  draw  from  models.  I  shall  go  to  sketch 
in  the  Pitti  Palace  and  the  gallery. 

Florence. 

Dear  John,  —  Why  did  you  not  write  by  the  last  steamer  1  Is 
somebody  dead  1  I  always  imagine  so  when  I  do  not  hear,  though 
they  say  no  news  is  good  news.  I  have  been  here  a  little  more  than 
a  month  now,  and  been  horribly  homesick  sometimes,  but  it  is  past 
now,  and  I  am  growing  fat,  go  to  the  gymnasium,  and  am  in  better 
spirits  than  I  have  been  for  the  last  six  months,  brain  clearer,  and 
begin  to  enjoy  nature  and  art  again,  —  hope  to  be  strong  enough  to 
do  a  good  winter's  work  in  Eome,  where  we  intend  going  in  a  week 
or  so.  There  will  be  fifteen  or  twenty  American  artists  in  Rome  this 
winter.  I  intend  to  set  seriously  about  the  study  of  the  human  figure 
this  winter ;  in  the  mean  time,  too,  I  can  make  some  sketches  from 
medals  which  I  hope  may  be  of  some  use  to  you,  besides  some  finished 
drawings  from  Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo,  which  will  go  towards 
paying  expenses,  as  I  can  dispose  of  them  in  Boston  at  a  good  price. 
I  have  not  been  in  the  mood  of  doing  anything  very  serious  since  I 
have  been  here,  and  have  spent  the  time  in  looking  at  the  galleries 
and  sketching.  I  have  made  a  little  pencil  drawing  from  a  model 
which  perhaps  you  may  like,  —  did  not  begin  it  with  the  intention 
of  making  a  picture.  Morse  was  painting  from  the  model,  and  to 
pass  the  time  I  sat  down  to  make  a  mere  outline,  which  pleasing  me,  I 
worked  on  and  brought  out  what  I  will  send  with  Dan's  *  picture, 
which  he  sends  next  week  from  Leghorn.  I  am  sorry  now  I  did  not 
make  a  large  crayon  drawing  of  the  subject.  I  will  make  some  in 
Rome  this  winter. 

Dan  sends  his  regards.  Carey  wished  him  to  make  a  picture  to  send 
by  the  next  steamer  for  you  to  engrave,  but  he  says  he  cannot,  but 
will  do  something  in  Rome  in  the  course  of  a  month  or  so. 

Dan  'has  just  come  in,  and  proposes  that  I  should  send  my  drawing 
in  this  letter.  The  mail  goes  in  an  hour,  so  I  have  not  time  to  finish 
it  as  I  intended ;  besides,  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  worth  the  extra 


*  Huntingdon. 


ARTISTIC  LIFE. 


79 


postage,  but  you  must  make  Carey  pay  that  if  he  makes  use  of  it.  It 
may  get  spoiled  in  going  by  rubbing. 

Morse  is  here ;  we  have  roomed  together  of  late.  Another  winter 
here  will  be  of  great  use  to  him. 

Dear  Mother,  —  I  hoped  to  hear  from  you  ere  this,  but  I  suppose 
my  letter  had  a  long  passage.  John  wrote  me  that  you  had  been  sick. 
I  hope  you  have  recovered  entirely.  I  often  regret  that  I  have  made 
so  long  a  way  between  us,  but  I  shall  return  to  you  a  changed  being 
and  with  a  different  mind  :  doubts,  and  the  darkness  that  have  so 
long  rested  on  my  mind  have  passed  away,  and  the  "  calm  peace  and 
quiet "  of  faith  has  taken  their  place.  I  begin  now  to  read  the  Bible 
with  pleasure  and  profit,  and  find  great  consolation  in  its  truths,  and 
wonder  that  I  should  so  long  have  neglected  its  divine  precepts ;  but 
there  are  minds  that  must  pass  through  the  shadowy  vale  of  doubts 
ere  they  reach  the  sunshine  of  faith  beyond.  The  113th  Psalm  ex- 
presses what  I  feel  now  better  than  any  words  that  I  can  say. 

Electa,  will  you  copy  and  send  to  me  Longfellow's  "  Psalm  of 
Life "  1  I  should  like,  too,  Bryant's  "  Thanatopsis,"  but  that  is  too 
long  for  you  to  write.  Let  me  hear  from  you.  I  have  not  heard  a 
word  since  I  left.  John  said  nothing  of  you  in  his  letter.  Do  write 
soon.  Sep. 

Rome,  Dec.  20,  1843. 

Dear  John,  —  I  have  received  two  letters  since  I  wrote  you,  and 
one  from  Electa,  —  a  most  delightful  one  and  unexpected.  I  confess 
it  makes  me  homesick  to  think  how  many  I  have  left  behind,  but  it  is 
only  in  absence  that  one  can  estimate  their  true  value,  and  know  how 
dear,  above  all  the  world  else,  are  those  to  whom  we  are  bound  by  the 
closest  of  all  ties. 

I  am  glad  you  have  concluded  to  remain  in  Boston.  There  must 
be  much  more  there  to  excite  an  artist  than  in  Philadelphia.  Those 
works  of  Allston  are  almost  a  substitute  for  the  Vatican ;  they  are 
conceived  in  the  true  style.  He  appears,  I  think,  to  have  had  a 
mind  more  like  Correggio  than  any  other  man's,  and  like  him  too  in 
character. 

When  I  think,  John,  of  all  those  great  minds,  Channing  and 
Allston,  living  and  trusting,  all  their  thoughts  and  actions  elevated 
by,  and  dying  at  last  in  some  religious  faith,  I  am  disposed  to  despise 


80 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


my  own  petty  mind  that  has  presumed  to  doubt  its  truth.  Let  us 
look  at  this  before  we  regret  it,  —  we  may  find  something  that  we 
dreamed  not  of. 

I  am  occupied  now  in  making  sketches  from  models,  but  particu- 
larly in  studying  the  anatomy  of  the  human  figure,  and  drawing, 
under  Ferrero,  the  engraver.  I  find  I  must  make  a  school-boy  of 
myself  again.  I  hope  in  the  course  of  the  winter  to  get  a  good 
general  knowledge  of  the  figure,  and  a  better  and  more  decided  style 
of  drawing.  As  for  color,  I  think  I  had  better  let  that  alone  for  the 
present.  You  will  find  a  slate  an  excellent  thing  to  draw  on,  as  it 
does  not  affect  the  eyes  so  much,  and  the  alterations  can  be  made  in 
the  outlines  with  much  greater  facility,  which  can  afterwards  be  trans- 
ferred to  paper  by  tracing.  Though  it  seems  to  be  the  longest,  yet 
I  believe  it  is  in  the  end  the  quickest  way  of  drawing. 

The  paper  I  sent  by  the  Victoria  instead  of  the  Mediator,  as 
you  supposed.  You  can  now  get  it  by  applying  to  Captain  Morgan, 
as  I  directed  to  have  it  left  on  board  until  called  for. 

De  la  Eoche  is  here  on  account  of  ill-health.  I  hope  it  is  not  a 
serious  illness. 

I  wrote  you  some  time  ago  about  funds.  As  I  shall  probably  re- 
turn very  early  in  the  spring,  I  should  like  to  have  you  send  what 
money  you  can  conveniently  get  together  on  my  account.  I  think 
about  $200  or  $500  would  be  enough,  and  enable  me  to  get  some 
prints  besides,  which  I  should  like  to  do.  Charles  owes  me  $150; 
perhaps  he  could  send  you  some.  There  is  some  way  of  forwarding 
bills  of  exchange  to  Baring's,  they  tell  me,  so  that  it  would  not  be 
necessary  to  send  them  to  me  and  have  them  again  returned.  It 
would  save  time  and  expense. 

I  wish  I  could  make  out  a  more  entertaining  letter  from  the 
"  Eternal  City,"  but  I  can't  say  what  I  would  on  paper,  so  must  have 
a  longer  talk  when  we  meet  again. 

Rome,  Jan.  16,  1844. 
(How  time  flies,  John  !) 

Dear  John,  —  I  have  just  got  your  letter  of  the  18th  of  Decem- 
ber, enclosing  a  draft  for  which  I  am  much  obliged.  1  received  yours 
of  the  1st  December,  too,  in  due  time.  I  ought  to  be  the  happiest 
mortal  in  existence,  for  I  always  get  such  good  news  from  you  in  this 


ARTISTIC  LIFE. 


81 


far-off  country,  but,  John,  I  am  not.  I  can't  set  about  anything 
serious  in  the  way  of  art  yet.  My  mind  flies  from  one  thing  to  an- 
other, and  has  no  settled  purpose.  There  is  so  much  here  in  Rome  to 
do,  and  one  feels  his  own  deficiencies  so  sensibly,  that  it  sometimes  has 
the  effect  of  disheartening  him ;  but  I  hope  to  get  some  benefit  from 
the  sight  of  these  great  works,  to  fill  the  mind  with  their  spirit  while 
I  am  here,  though  I  shall  not  accomplish  much  with  my  hand,  so  that 
the  effect  will  be  in  perspective.  What  you  ask  in  regard  to  Raphael's 
works  can  better  be  answered  in  his  own  words,  that  "  to  make  one 
beautiful  object  it  is  necessary  to  see  many ; "  and  adds,  also,  "  mi 
servo  di  certa  idea  che  mi  viene  alia  mente."  I  have  seen  studies  for 
the  School  of  Athens  of  groups  which  seem  made  from  individual 
models  with  all  their  peculiarities  and  accidental  costume,  which  in 
the  finished  picture  are  clothed  with  flowing  draperies  and  made  phi- 
losophers. The  model  served  more  for  the  idea  of  action,  —  the  charac- 
ter and  expression  he  drew  from  his  own  observation  of  the  infinite 
variety  in  nature  rather  than  from  an  individual  model.  Why  should 
we  confine  ourselves  to  one  object  when  the  whole  universe  is  filled 
with  beauty? 

I  am  sorry  to  hear  of  the  unfinished  state  of  Mr.  Allston's  pictures. 
I  hope  the  outlines  and  drawings  will  not  find  their  way  out  of  the  coun- 
try, though  I  fear  the  "  Titania's  Court  "  will  go  to  England.  I  wish 
you  had  made  an  engraving  of  that.  Those  are  great  things.  I  look 
back  on  them  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  and  rejoice  that  after  leaving 
these  fine  things  here  I  shall  have  them  to  fall  back  upon. 

It  will  be  observed  that  Mr.  Cheney  often  speaks  in  these 
letters  of  a  state  of  depression.  This  was  not  infrequent  with 
him  throughout  life.  It  was  undoubtedly  partly  hereditary, 
and  partly  increased  by  ill-health,  and  a  want  of  knowledge  of 
sanitary  conditions.  Full  of  enthusiasm  and  capable  of  work- 
ing with  great  intensity  and  concentration  of  power,  and  not 
having  had  the  advantage  of  that  thorough  early  mental  train- 
ing which  would  have  helped  him  to  husband  his  resources,  he 
often  exhausted  his  brain  by  long-continued  excited  labor,  and 

0 


82 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 

I 


did  not  take  sufficient  rest  and  food  to  balance  it.  Depression 
of  spirits  was  the  natural  consequence,  but  even  in  this  condi- 
tion his  natural  characteristics  were  always  fully  manifest.  He 
had  wonderful  self-control,  and  when  undergoing  great  mental 
suffering  he  would  not  betray  it  at  all  to  a  careless  eye,  and 
often  those  who  knew  him  best  would  perceive  it  only  by  an 
unnatural  calmness.  He  was  never  morose  or  ungentle  or  un- 
kind, and  always  sought  rather  to  dissipate  his  melancholy  by 
solitude  or  converse  with  nature  or  by  music  than  to  intrude 
it  upon  others  and  demand  their  sympathy.  He  also  understood 
his  own  state  of  mind,  and  never  referred  it  to  false  causes.  But 
his  joyous  moods  were  like  the  sunshine,  irradiating  and  cheer- 
ing and  inspiring  all  within  their  influence. 

The  religious  expressions  in  these  letters  are  deeply  interest- 
ing, and  show  how  prone  he  was  to  converse  with  heavenly 
things.  He  was  extremely  sympathetic  and  catholic  in  his 
nature,  and  while  he  went  on  constantly  to  freer  and  broader 
views  of  theology,  he  also  "  unlearned  contempt,"  and  was  never 
guilty  of  harshness  to  those  who  did  not  think  with  him.  After 
he  became  free  from  the  bondage  of  the  old  traditions  which 
were  around  him  in  his  childhood,  he  cared  little  to  discuss 
them,  but  cared  much  for  the  development  of  spiritual  and 
moral  life.  He  found  the  essence  of  religion,  and  it  gave  him 
peace  and  strength  in  the  final  hours  of  life,  with  no  reference 
to  dogmas. 

Friends  of  intense  positive  forms  of  faith  often  supposed  he 
was,  or  would  be,  a  convert  to  their  particular  church,  because 
he  had  the  habit  of  listening  reverently  and  sympathetically  to 
those  who  were  earnest  and  sincere  in  their  utterances ;  but 

' '  To  sect  or  party  his  large  soul 
Disdained  to  be  confined  ; 
The  great  he  loved,  of  every  age, 
The  good  of  all  mankind." 


ARTISTIC  LIFE. 


83 


He  rarely  attended  church  services,  but  found  food  for  his 
religious  nature  in  music,  art,  and  poetry,  and  the  commun- 
ion with  Nature  and  his  friends.  Yet  he  was  by  no  means 
* 

indifferent,  and  was  never  so  excited  as  by  harsh,  narrow, 
and  dogmatic  expressions  of  Calvinism.  When  some  bigot 
dared  to  intimate  that  a  good  man  not  a  church-member  "  had 
gone  to  hell,"  Seth  declared  that  if  God  would  condemn  such  a 
man  to  hell,  he  would  rather  go  with  him  than  go  to  heaven. 
He  once  became  so  excited  by  a  controversy  with  a  Calvinist 
minister  that  he  did  not  get  over  it  for  many  days.  At  a  later 
period  he  was  much  indebted  to  Theodore  Parker  for  clearing 
up  his  intellectual  doubts,  for  showing  him  the  Bible  and  Jesus 
in  a  new  light,  and  giving  them  again  to  his  love  and  rever- 
ence. His  own  faith  was  in  the  goodness  of  God  and  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  and  although  his  mind  was  sometimes 
clouded  by  depression  his  faith  always  returned  to  strengthen 
him.  When  in  Italy  he  was  once  in  a  very  depressed  state  of 
mind  for  several  days.  One  Sunday  morning  he  felt  this  mood 
even  more  deeply  than  usual.  He  had  a  conversation  with  a 
friend  who  was  of  the  Calvinistic  school  of  faith,  but  this  only 
darkened  his  spirit  the  more.  He  walked  out,  and  wandered 
into  the  churches,  but  psalm  and  prayer  and  mass  had  no  effect 
upon  him  and  he  turned  to  come  out.  As  he  passed  into  the 
porch  a  peasant- woman  entered,  bearing  her  babe  in  her  arms. 
She  stopped  at  the  font  of  holy  water  and  crossed  her  baby's 
brow,  and  as  she  did  so  such  an  expression  of  divine  love  and 
human  joy  came  into  her  face  as  went  straight  to  his  heart 
and  healed  him  of  his  pain.  How  little  did  that  madonna  know 
what  she  had  done  ! . 

Becoming  very  homesick,  he  decided  to  return  home.  But 
when  all  was  arranged,  and  he  had  even  gone  a  stage  on  his 
journey,  he  was  seized  with  an  intense  desire  to  stay  in  Italy. 
Backed  by  a  conflict  of  feelings,  he  was  in  agony.    At  last  he 


84 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


knelt  in  earnest  prayer,  such  as  he  had  never  known  before. 
Then  the  whole  room  seemed  to  be  full  of  angels  who  came 
and  ministered  unto  him.  He  arose  calm  and  went  on  his  way 
homeward.  So  powerful  was  this  impression  that  more  than  ten 
years  afterward,  on  his  death-bed,  he  referred  to  it  as  a  source 
of  strength  and  consolation.  "  He  hath  given  his  angels  charge 
concerning  thee." 

This  entry  occurs  in  a  note-book :  — 

Apr.  23,  '44.  —  Left  Rome  at  seven  o'clock  with  a  sad  and  beat- 
ing heart.  The  great  bell  of  St.  Peter's  tolled  solemn  and  mournful 
tones  in  my  heart  that  seemed  a  death-knell.  Oh,  who  can  count  the 
miseries  of  a  hypochondriac  1  Phantoms  are,  after  all,  more  terrible  than 
the  real,  for  these  we  may  subdue  and  conquer,  but  the  spirit,  who 
shall  lay  that  1  "  Shadows  have  struck  more  terror  than  could  the  sub- 
stance of  ten  thousand." 

In  the  same  note-book  are  Bryant's  poem,  "The  groves  were 
God's  first  temples,"  and  another  beginning  "  My  friend,  thou 
sorrowest  for  thy  golden  prime." 

One  of  the  few  pictures  he  ever  signed  is  an  admirable  head 
of  an  old  beggar  man,  dated  Eome,  1844.  Its  wonderful  light  and 
shadow  show  how  well  he  had  profited  by  Ferrero's  teaching. 

Seth  returned  home  with  Mr.  Morse  directly  from  Italy. 
They  took  passage  in  a  new  fine  sailing-ship  owned  in  America, 
the  captain  being  part-owner.  Owing  to  a  difficulty  in  getting 
their  tobacco,  the  crew  refused  to  weigh  anchor  on  the  appointed 
day.  The  captain,  being  provoked  at  this,  declared  he  would  sail 
the  next  day 'at  any  rate.  Everything  foreboded  a  storm,  and 
the  harbor  is  a  very  dangerous  one.  Still  the  captain  sailed. 
The  storm  came  on  furiously,  and  in  the  attempt  to  take  in  sail, 
a  fine  young  sailor  was  knocked  overboard  and  taken  up  insen- 
sible. There  was  no  surgeon  on  board,  and  Seth  took  charge  of 
him  and  bled  him  with  a  penknife.  This  prompt  measure  was 
thought  to  have  saved  his  life.    He  was  taken  to  a  hospital. 


ARTISTIC  LIFE. 


85 


Mr.  Morse  says  the  perfect  coolness  and  self-possession  of  Mr. 
Cheney  under  these  circumstances  was  astonishing.  Although 
usually  a  victim  of  seasickness,  he  was  perfectly  well  during  the 
excitement  of  the  storm.  The  captain  entirely  lost  his  presence 
of  mind,  and  was  obliged  to  give  up  the  command  of  the  ship  to 
the  mate,  who  put  back  to  Leghorn.  They  remained  there  two 
weeks  before  sailing  again,  and  were  then  fifty-two  days  on  the 
voyage  home. 


86 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


CHAPTEK  VI. 

MAERIAGE  AND  LIFE  IN  AMERICA. 

OETH  returned  to  America  in  the  summer  of  1844,  and  the 
following  letter  shows  how  he  was  occupied  during  the 
autumn. 

FROM  MRS.  WARD  CHENEY  TO  HER  SISTER. 

Dec.  22,  184$ 

Seth  is  still  here ;  he  will  leave  for  Boston  next  week.  He  has 
been  taking  Electa's  portrait  for  Eichard ;  it  is  a  perfect  likeness.  He 
is  now  taking  Ward,  and  as  far  as  he  has  progressed  it  is  capital.  The 
•  boys  (or  rather  Seth)  have  been  enlarging  that  little  bedroom  that 
goes  out  east,  into  a  fine  large  room  for  mother's  sleeping-room,  so  it 
may  be  comfortable,  and  she  not  be  obliged  to  go  up  stairs.  Seth  did 
nearly  all  the  work  himself,  as  there  was  a  scarcity  of  carpenters  and 
masons  just  at  that  time.  I  never  saw  such  a  fellow  ;  he  can  do  any- 
thing and  everything ;  he  laid  all  tke  brick,  built  the  chimney  up  to 
the  top,  did  the  plastering  and  most  of  "the  carpentering,  has  put  a 
fine  yellow  wash  on  the  room,  and  hung  pictures  up  and  arranged 
plants,  and  you  can't  imagine  what  a  delightful  room  it  is.  I  never 
go  into  it  but  it  reminds  me  of  a  picture.  Carry. 

He  then  went  to  Boston  and  thus  writes  to  his  sister :  — 

Boston,  Jan.  12,  (probably  1845). 
Dear  Electa,  —  I  did  not  get  your  letter  till  yesterday  morning, 
on  account  of  the  carrier  not  knowing  my  address.  Miss  Morse 
received  your  present  on  the  day  of  her  marriage ;  it  was  admired  by 
all ;  I  have  not  yet  seen  it,  but  shall.  Caroline  [Doane]  invited  me  to 
stay  with  her ;  so  I  am  here  pleasantly  situated,  and  feel  almost  at  home. 


MARRIAGE  AND  LIFE  IN  AMERICA. 


87 


I  am  in  excellent  health  and  spirits.  I  have  not  yet  taken  a  room, 
but  am  feeling  every  day  more  like  going  ahead  again  ;  am  attacked  at 
every  corner  to  do  something.  I  have  been  visiting  about  amongst 
my  old  friends,  and  meet  with  a  cordial  welcome  everywhere  ;  have 
more  friends  than  I  deserve,  I  fear,  but  it  is  pleasant  to  be  remem- 
bered. 

Have  you  heard  anything  of  this  new  science  they  call  Neurology  1 
One  describes  the  character  of  a  person  by  holding   a  letter  of 

his  in  the  hands.    Miss   has  the  faculty,  and  has  described 

many  with  wonderful  certainty,  without  any  previous  knowledge 
of  the  writer.  After  holding  the  letter  a  few  minutes  she  begins  to 
describe  her  sensations,  or  rather  the  impressions  she  receives  of  the 
character  of  the  individual  who  wrote  the  letter.  Often,  too,  scenes  that 
are  described  in  the  letter  are  impressed  on  her  mind.  I  went  with 
Seth  Wells  yesterday,  who  carried  a  letter  from  a  friend  of  his.  After 
giving  many  traits  of  the  character  of  the  person,  she  laughed  at  the 
queer  impression  that  all  at  once  came  to  her  mind  of  a  river  running 
through  a  hilly,  or,  as  she  said,  a  bluffy  country,  with  pine-trees  and 
lumber  floating  down.  In  the  letter  Seth  gave  her  was  a  description  of 
a  down-East  river  ! ! !  My  character  has  been  read  too,  some  time  ago, 
from  a  letter  I  wrote  at  Geneva  in  my  former  visit  there.  From  it 
she  received  the  impression  of  glorious  mountain  scenery,  etc.,  which 
they  told  me  was  described  in  the  letter.  I  have  not  seen  it,  the  book 
in  which  her  characters  are  written  being  out  of  town.  I  don't  know 
what  to  think  of  it  myself ;  I  am  not  disposed  to  disbelieve  in  the 
power. 

At  this  time,  1845,  he  was  in  the  maturity  of  his  genius  and 
activity.  He  had  gained  much  in  technical  skill  by  his  resi- 
dence abroad,  and  worked  with  more  confidence  and  ease.  Yet 
he  always  was  diffident  and  distrustful  of  his  own  merit.  He 
came  home-  to  a  large  circle  of  friends  and  admirers,  all  ready  to 
give  him  commissions.  His  price  was  gradually  raised  from 
fifty  to  seventy-five  and  one  hundred  dollars,  so  that  his  pecu- 
niary anxieties  were  ended.  Forty-seven  portraits  are  charged 
under  the  date  1845  ;  they  are  almost  entirely  of  Boston  people, 
except  a  few  in  New  Bedford  and  one  of  William  C.  Bryant. 


83 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


Among  them  is  a  portrait  of  the  celebrated  philanthropist,  Miss 
Dorothea  Dix,  which  became  the  property  of  the  Boston  Athe- 
naeum, one  of  his  own  mother,  and  a  charming  group  of  two 
children  of  Eev.  James  Freeman  Clarke,  which  was  a  present 
from  his  parish.  Mr.  Clarke  says,  in  his  letter  of  thanks,  "  this 
is  fulfilling  the  dream  of  our  lives." 

The  list  of  portraits  recommences  with  the  date  April,  1846, 
but  includes  only  twenty-four  portraits,  all  of  them  Boston 
names.  He  was  apparently  exhausted  by  work,  and  retired  to 
Manchester  for  the  summer  months. 

In  the  summer  of  1846  he  was  at  Manchester,  and  here  a 
long  attachment  to  his  cousin,  Miss  Emily  Pitkin,  resulted  in 
acknowledged  betrothal.  She  was  a  person  of  uncommon  beauty, 
and  great  warmth  and  sweetness  of  character,  with  lively, 
attractive  manners,  which  made  her  a  general  favorite.  To  one 
of  Seth's  nature  such  an  event  brought  the  deepest  spiritual 
experience,  and  he  constantly  struggled  with  the  painful  sense 
of  unworthiness,  which  made  him  shrink  from  the  thought  of 
taking  another's  happiness  into  his  charge.  At  the  request  of 
her  sister,  Mrs.  Sherman,  he  kept  a  journal  during  this  period. 
His  health  was  exceptionally  poor,  and  affected  his  spirits  so 
much  that  this  journal  is  filled  with  expressions  of  intense  men- 
tal suffering.  Yet  he  seems  to  recognize  that  this  heavy  weight 
comes  from  his  own  physical  condition,  and  he  never  fails 
to  recognize  the  blessings  of  his  lot,  and  the  beauty  of  nature 
about  him.  It  would  be  unfair  to  repeat  these  expressions,  for  a 
journal  gives  vent  to  the  most  morbid  feelings,  and  rarely  records 
the  healthy  and  bright  moments  when  one  is  too  happy  for  self- 
introspection  ;  but  even  this  record  reveals  his  tender  love  for 
those  around  him,  and  an  entire  absence  of  bitterness  or  suspicious 
feeling  towards  others.  Himself  he  blames  for  all  his  sufferings. 
A  few  brief  extracts  will  illustrate  these  remarks. 


MARRIAGE  AND  LIFE  IN  AMERICA. 


89 


July  1,  1846. 

Made  a  promise  with  Esther  to  keep  a  journal  for  a  year  of  my  use- 
less existence.  What  have  I  to  say  to-day  1  Like  the  day  my  thoughts 
have  been  cloudy  and  dark,  though  I  am  surrounded  with  every  cir- 
cumstance to  make  man  happy,  am  in  my  old  home  in  the  midst  of 
those  dear  to  me,  am  sitting  in  the  very  room  where  I  was  born  ;  yet 
I  am  not  satisfied,  but  look  with  regret  on  the  past,  with  apprehension 
and  sometimes  with  despair  to  the  future,  and  wish  that  I  might  lay 
down  what  my  gloomy  imagination  pictures  the  heavy  burthen  of 
existence,  and  sleep  the  <sleep  of  death ;  but  then  a  sunny  spot  gleams 
in  the  dark  landscape,  and  then  existence  seems  a  blessing,  and  I  re- 
solve to  bear  bravely  the  "  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to."  ...  I  have  been 
constantly  occupied  since  my  return ;  have  now  over  forty  heads  to 
be  taken  off. 

Worked  an  hour  on  Mr.  H.'s  portrait ;  walked  with  John  down  the 
way  of  the  old  school-house,  regret  to  find  it  moved.  Stood  on  the 
site,  and  thought  of  the  old  time,  the  innocent  time  of  childhood. 
Where  are  they  all  who  came  to  con  the  a  b  c,  one  after  another'? 
There  stands  the  old  butternut-tree  ;  there  runs  the  little  brook  we 
paddled  in  at  noon-time.  How  few  like  me  ever  return  to  look  on  the 
same  spot !  How  many  were  gathered  in  the  bud  and  blossom,  and 
laid  sweetly  and  untainted  in  their  graves  !  Happy  such  to  escape  the 
storms  of  life  !  Would  I  were  lying  quietly  by  their  side  !  But  let  me 
have  patience  and  bide  my  time.  I  like  to  gather  wild-flowers  more 
than  in  gardens.  Went  to  Hartford  ;  on  the  way  overtook  an  elderly 
man  and  asked  him  to  ride,  but,  alas,  poor  man  !  speech  he  had  not, 
but  action,  and  how  much  more  expressive  than  words  !  Let  us  not 
always  be  babbling.  Are  words  more  expressive  than  actions  1  How 
much  a  look  may  convey  to  those  we  love  !  How  much  silence  may 
speak  !  This  is  the  way  of  Nature,  or,  if  she  speaks,  it  is  in  the  "  still, 
small  voice." 

July  4.  —  They  say  it  never  rains  on  this  day ;  it  rained  this  morn- 
ing, and  we  anticipated  a  sorry  time  for  the  children  who  came  to  cele- 
brate Independence,  and  partake  of  the  collation  under  the  trees  by 
the  church,  but  it  held  up  soon.  I  reached  the  church  just  as  they 
were  forming  the  procession,  and  a  beautiful  sight  it  was  to  look  upon 
them,  and  amusing  to  see  them  cram  their  mouths  and  pockets  with 
the  sweet  things  profusely  spread  before  them,  —  the  table-cloth  was 


90 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


spread  with  long  sheets  of  white  paper,  not  a  bad  idea.  In  the  even- 
ing a  display  of  fireworks  at  the  head  of  the  lane,  but,  on  account  of 
the  dampness  of  the  weather,  they  were  not  so  brilliant  as  they  might 
be.  The  balloon  went  off  beautifully,  and  was  the  best  part  of  the 
show  [a  fire  balloon  he  had  made]. 

July  5.  —  Oh  the  luxury  of  going  barefoot!  I  have  tramped 
about,  and  am  happy  as  a  child  again.  I  do  not  wonder  at  the  child's 
impatience  to  get  off  its  shoes  in  warm  weather  that  he  may  pat  along 
freely  in  every  puddle,  and  strip  the  daisy  heads  with  his  toes  ;  bar- 
ring the  occasional  stings  and  thorns,  he  is  in. paradise.  I  never  look 
with  entire  contempt  on  myself  except  with  a  tight  pair  of  boots  on 
in  a  hot  day,  and  thick  coat  with  pantaloons  strapped  down,  and  black 
beaver  on  my  head,  and  gloves  on  my  hands,  in  the  streets  of  a  city. 
A  free  man  may  have  lost  all  his  friends,  without  a  sou  in  his  pocket, 
and  still  have  some  respect  for  himself  individually.  I  believe  half 
the  minor  troubles  come  from  clothes,  but  he  who  can  walk  on  serene 
with  pinched  corns  is  a  philosopher  indeed.  .  .  . 

July  6.  —  Decapitated  four  old  hens,  and  made  a  fire  in  the  oven 
for  mother,  and  afterward  joined  Rush  to  go  to  Willimantic,  and  a  most 
delightful  time  I  had  of  it.  The  country  never  looked  so  fine,  a  dark 
rich  green ;  it  has  rained  every  day  for  three  weeks  :  the  Hop  Eiver  road 
ran  along  beautifully  through  the  valleys  and  by  the  hedges  and 
brooks ;  the  old  stone-walls  were  tangled  with  vines  and  hazels  and 
sumachs ;  occasionally  a  tall  elm  or  pine  or  cedar,  and  chestnut  in  blos- 
som, or  monarch  oak  reared  its  mossy  branches  covered  with  the  rich 
foliage ;  old  brown  houses  with  stone  chimneys  among  the  rocks^  and 
antique  apple-trees ;  old  gray-headed  men,  with  long  jackets,  standing 
in  the  door,  tidy  maids  drawing  water  with  the  old  mossy  bucket. 
Altogether  I  have  not  seen  anything  nearly  so  primitive  for  a  long  time. 

July  11.  —  I  usually  begin  the  day  with  a  cold  bath,  which  after  a 
hot  night  is  most  invigorating ;  to-day  have  done  all  sorts  of  odd  jobs. 
There  is  something  pleasant  in  this  sort  of  life  to  me,  which  is  about  all 
that  I  am  fit  for,  as  it  requires  no  concentration  of  mind  and  thought. 
I  often  regret  that  I  have  been  tempted  away  by  any  other  life,  but  now, 
after  tasting  of  the  excited  existence  that  I  have,  I  should  not  be  con- 
tented for  a  long  time  with  this  quiet. 

July  12,  Sunday. — Passed  a  dull  day,  and  when  will  this  weight 
be  removed  1    All  that  I  ask  I  have  had,  even  that  which  I  ought 


MARRIAGE  AND  LIFE  IN  AMERICA.  91 

not  to  have  anticipated  ;  perhaps,  if  I  had  some  real  trouble,  I  might 
be  improved,  bi\t  as  all  I  have  is  imaginary,  where  shall  I  begin  1 
There  is  nothing  tangible. 

July  19. — Awoke  a  shade  lighter  this  morning,  but  thought  too 
long  in  bed  ;  never  regret  an  early  rising  ;  have  resolved  to  arise  as  soon 
as  I  awake  hereafter,  —  not  the  first  time,  though,  that  I  have  resolved 
and  broken  it. 

July  21.  —  Is  there  no  hope?  As  I  rose  this  morning  I  saw  the 
most  brilliant  rainbow,  and  tears  came  to  my  eyes.  I  remember  the 
last  time  I  was  making  preparations  to  leave  the  Eternal  City,  in  the 
early  morning,  lying  on  my  bed  after  passing  a  sleepless  night  dis- 
tracted with  doubt  and  fear,  thinking  of  the  long  and  weary  way  to 
my  home,  the  mountains  to  climb,  and  wide  ocean  to  cross,  and 
dangers  to  encounter,  —  I  remember  then,  as  the  city  lay  in  silence  save 
the  distant  bell  of  St.  Peter's  tolling  woe,  woe,  the  bright  morning  star 
glimmered  above  the  dome  of  San  Spirito,  through  my  casement,  and 
seemed  like  an  angel  eye,  and  gave  me  hope. 

During  the  summer  he  took  a  short  journey  to  the  sea-shore 
with  his  mother  and  her  two  sisters.  This  trio  of  old  ladies  was 
very  dear  to  him,  and  they  were  never  happier  than  when  with 
him,  trusting  to  his  careful  driving  and  his  tender  consideration 
for  their  fears  or  their  infirmities.    He  says  :  — 

At  twelve  o'clock  started  with  Aunt  Mary,  Aunt  Emily,  and  mother 
for  the*  sea-side  in  a  private  conveyance,  starting  through  Glaston- 
bury, crossing  the  Connecticut  River  at  Rocky  Hill,  through  Middle- 
town,  and  are  soon  safely  stowed  at  Durham.  Have  eaten  a  poor 
supper ;  never  stop  here  again. 

July  22,  Guilford. — The  phantom  has  lost  its  grimness ;  in  its 
place  dimly  appears  the  angel  of  Hope. 

July  24. — Calm  and  clear  rises  the  sun  this  morning  over  the 
waters  that  sleep  so  calm  and  clear  beneath,  reflecting  still  the  rock 
and  white  sail  that  lie  motionless  on  its  bosom.  Oh  that  my  mind 
might  bear  so  light  and  shadow  ! 

The  sea-shore  did  not  relieve  him,  and  in  August  he  went  to 
Brattleboro'  to  try  the  water-cure,  under  the  direction  of  Dr. 


92 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


Robert  Wesselhoeft.  The  change  of  air,  the  out-cloor  life,  and 
the  moderate  use  of  water  were  very  beneficial  to  him,  and,  as 
the  journal  proceeds,  the  heavy  weight  was  lifted  from  his  brain, 
and  he  once  says  he  is  "  as  well  as  he  ever  expects  to  be."  He 
entered  a  little  int;o  the  gay  life  of  the  establishment,  and  found 
congenial  friends  and  warm  admirers  among  the  patients.  After 
a  little  while  he  was  able  to  resume  his  drawing,  though  only  for 
a  few  hours  a  day,  and  he  made  a  charming  portrait  of  the 
daughter  of  his  physician,  of  which  he  thus  speaks  : — 

Aug.  8. —  Awoke  languid  and  spiritless;  got  up  three  times  and 
went  to  bed  again  for  want  of  spunk  to  dress  myself.  Commenced  a 
sketch  of  the  Doctor's  beautiful  daughter  Minna.  I  think  she  has  the 
finest  physique  of  any  child  of  her  age  I  ever  saw,  a  noble  specimen 
of  humanity.  Made  a  capital  sketch,  and  felt  better.  On  my  return 
home,  found  a  note  from  Miss  P.  inviting  me  to  join  her  party  to  the 
circus  on  the  island.  Swallowed  a  hasty  dinner,  but  reached  her  house 
too  late  to  accompany  them ;  rushed  down  to  the  island  and  found  the 
large  tent  filled  with  about  a  hundred  men,  women,  and  children.  The 
air  was  stifling,  and  it  commenced  raining  in  torrents,  and,  dripping- 
through  the  tents,  made  sad  work  with  the  go-to-meeting  finery  of  the 
women  ;  white  dresses  were  stained  green  from  the  drippings.  In  the 
midst  of  all  fell  in  with  Miss  P.  and  her  party  making  their  way  out. 
One  person  happening  to  have  an  umbrella  sheltered  us  both  from  the 
deluge  that  poured  down,  but  we  got  pretty  well  drenched  before  get- 
ting home,  but  enjoyed  it,  — it  was  short.  I  saw  some  very  beautiful 
faces  of  women  and  children,  which  to  me  was  the  entertainment. 
The  evening  being  rainy,  played  all  sorts  of  games  in  the  saloon,  and 
had  some  hearty  laughs ;  finished  off  by  dancing  the  Virginia  Reel.  It 
is  now  eleven  o'clock.  I  am  sitting  with  my  feet  in  a  tub  of  cold  water, 
and  feel  as  well  as  ever  I  expect  to. 

He  writes  to  his  sister  from  Brattleboro',  postmarked  Feb.  26 
(1847  ?):  — 

I  ought  to  have  answered  your  beautiful  letter  long  ago,  but  this 
cold  water  makes  one  a  real  selfish  being ;  he  thinks  of  nothing  but  his 


MARRIAGE  AND  LIFE  IN  AMERICA. 


93 


own  comfort.  If  I  stay  here  much  longer,  what  little  regard  I  might 
have  had  for  others  will  be  washed  out  of  me,  I  fear,  entirely. 

A  most  surprising  change  has  come  over  me  since  I  came.  It  is 
now  six  weeks  since  I  commenced  the  cure.  If  I  put  all  the  well 
days  together  for  the  last  four  years,  I  am  sure  they  would  not  have 
amounted  to  half  so  many  as  I  have  passed  here.  Yesterday  I  think 
I  never  felt  so  well  and  free  from  all  ills,  at  least  since  I  can  remember. 
I  have  not  yet  had  any  grand  crisis,  nothing  except  an  intolerable  itch- 
ing at  times  of  the  skin ;  this,  the  Doctor  says,  is  my  disease  coming 
out,  which  I  am  disposed  to  believe,  for  the  sensation  is  very  much 
like  what  I  have  felt  before  internally.  I  take  a  great  deal  of  exercise, 
though  I  have  not  walked  over  fifteen  miles  a  day  yet  ;  my  legs  being 
longer  than  any  other  patient's,  I  am  obliged  to  walk  alone,  but  still  I 
enjoy  these  solitary  rambles  among  these  snow-clad  hills,  and  uncon- 
sciously sing  on  my  lonely  way,  and  am  happy  in  spite  of  myself,  — 
even  look  with  pleasure  to  a  repetition  of  the  same  scene  to-mor- 
row. The  snow  is  now  three  feet  on  a  level,  and  I  have  not  seen 
the  smallest  patch  of  ground  since  I  came  here.  Within  the  last  week 
the  mercury  has  been  as  low  as  twenty-two  degrees  below  zero,  but  this 
we  don't  mind,  though  sometimes  I  am  disposed  to  shiver  a  little  when 
Stoltz,  my  man,  comes  into  my  room  at  four  o'clock  in  the  mornin* 
with  his  lantern  and  cold  wet  sheet  on  his  arm,  and  bids  me  jump  out 
and  be  wrapped  in  ;  but  the  shock  is  soon  over,  and  is  succeeded  by 
an  agreeable  warmth  and  soothing  effect,  and  one  falls  into  a  most  soft 
and  delicious  slumber.  In  this  state  I  once  dreamed  of  visfting  the 
tomb  of  Priessnitz,  which  seemed  to  be  in  a  sort  of  chapel  in  an  old 
church  ;  in  the  centre  of  this  stood  the  sarcophagus,  in  the  shape  of 
a  bathing-tub,  over  which  were  thrown  picturesquely  sundry  sheets 
and  blankets ;  the  inscription  I  dreamed  to  have  read,  but  what  it  was 
I  could  not  recall.  At  another  time  I  dreamed  of  walking  ghost-like 
clown  Washington  Street,  in  Boston,  wrapped  in  my  wet  sheet  and 
being  stared  at  and  annoyed  by  the  shopkeepers  as  I  passed  along.  I 
made  a  short  cut  down  a  narrow  street,  and  jumped  on  a  sled  which  a 
boy  had  abandoned  in  his  flight.  I  coasted  over  hill  and  down  valley 
with  the  speed  of  lightning,  and  soon  found  myself  at  my  own  door. 
Met  the  Doctor,  who  advised  me  not  to  walk  again  till  I  came  out  of 
the  sheet,  for  fear  of  taking  cold.  I  went  immediately  to  my  room  to 
dress,  after  which  went  out  with  the  intention  of  returning  the  boy  his 


04 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


sled,  when,  lo !  it  was  transformed  into  a  sitz-bathing  tub,  filled  with 
cold  water !  This  shock  awoke  me,  and  it  is  the  last  dream  I  have 
had  of  the  water-cure. 

After  lying  two  or  three  hours  in  the  sheet,  I  am  taken  out,  rubbed 
by  Stoltz  and  Fritz  a  few  minutes,  in  a  bath  of  from  sixty  to  seventy 
degrees.  I  have  never  taken  an  entire  cold  bath  yet  ;  leaving  the  bath, 
I  am  enveloped  in  a  coarse  dry  cotton  sheet,  and  rubbed  dry.  By 
the  way,  I  think  you  would  like  this  way,  after  taking  your  bath  ;  it  is 
much  better  than  a  towel ;  it  prevents  evaporation,  and  you  become 
immediately  warm  in  it.  After  dressing  I  go  out  immediately,  rain  or 
shine,  and  walk  three  or  four  miles,  drinking  as  much  water  as  I  can 
at  every  spring  I  pass  ;  our  breakfast  after  this,  of  bread  and  milk,  is 
*  most  delicious ;  the  only  trouble  is  to  restrain  the  appetite  within 
reasonable  bounds.  Soon  after  breakfast  I  take  a  long  walk,  return- 
ing between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock,  and  sitting  coolly  down  in  a 
tub  of  water  for  half  an  hour  or  so  ;  the  same  bath  again  at  five 
o'clock.  This  sitz-bath  has  a  wonderful  effect  on  me ;  I  always  get 
out  of  it  singing  or  whistling,  and  never  think  of  doing  less  than 
running  two  miles  to  begin  with.  We  dine  at  one  o'clock,  — 
a  plain  dinner  of  soup,  a  roast  with  two  or  three  kinds  of  vege- 
tables, and  finish  with  a  simple  rice  or  tapioca  pudding  with  stewed 
prunes ;  our  wine  is  colorless.  No  one  would  for  a  moment  suppose 
that  invalids  were  dining  at  our  table ;  cold  water  has  a  wonderful 
effect  on  the  appetite,  and  very  little  inconvenience  is  ever  felt  by 
the  patiAits  from  their  food.  About  thirty  of  us  meet  at  dinner,  —  old 
men  and  women,  girls  and  boys,  a  motley  group.  The  Doctor  presides 
at  one  table,  and  /  at  the  other.  I  have  become  quite  an  adept  at 
carving.  So  we  go  on  in  what  seems  a  monotonous  round,  one  day 
after  another,  but  still  are  happy ;  why  should  we  not  be,  when  we 
feel  that  the  blessed  boon  of  health  is  returning  1 

Sunday  Morning. 

I  wish  you  were  here  to-day, — such  a  pure  blue  sky,  such  clear 
living  air,  fit  for  angels  to  breathe.  No  house  made  with  hands  shall 
shut  out  this  glorious  God's  temple,  that  shall  be  my  worshipping 
place  to-day ;  my  dome  shall  be  the  blue  vault  of  heaven,  o'erarching 
all ;  my  marble  pavement,  the  pure  white  snow  ;  my  aisles  among  its 
carved  crusted  drifts,  over  which  I  glide  as  on  a  frozen  sea ;  my  altar, 
the  high  mountains,  its  incense  the  rising  mists,  my  burning  lamp  the 


MARRIAGE  AND  LIFE  IN  AMERICA. 


95 


Sun ;  the  ever  living  running  water  shall  serve  for  my  sacrament.  The 
winds  in  the  ever-green  branches  of  the  tall  old  pines  shall  chant  my 
anthem,  my  prayer :  "  0  God,  what  can  words  express  1  I  bow  my 
head;  mine  eyes  are  filled  with  tears." 

On  November  18,  1846,  his  three  old  friends  and  travelling 
companions,  Huntington,  Gray,  and  H.  K.  Brown,  sent  him  a 
joint  letter  of  most  cordial  invitation  to  join  them  in  New  York, 
offering  him  every  inducement  of  pleasant  lodgings,  studio,  and 
companionship  ;  but  he  did  not  accept  their  invitation,  but  went 
to  Boston,  where  he  had  engagements. 

During  the  spring  and  summer  of  1847  he  was  either  in  New 
York  or  Boston,  drawing  crayon  portraits,  or  at  South  Manches- 
ter, resting  and  enjoying  the  society  of  his  relatives. 

He  took  a  large  studio  in  Boston,  which  was  formerly  the 
vestry  of  Dr.  Channing's  church.  John  occupied  a  room  above. 
Part  of  the  time  they  slept  in  the  upper  rooms,  taking  their 
meals  at  the  United  States  Hotel. 

About  this  time  he  gave  a  few  lessons,  the  only  time  that  he 
ever  attempted  regular  teaching.    One  of  his  pupils  says  :  — 

"  My  first  remembrance  of  Mr.  Cheney  was  at  the  time  when  he 
was  taking  the  likeness  of  Mrs.  Ticknor,  when  a  few  young  ladies 
joined  to  take  some  lessons  from  him.  I  do  not  think  he  gave  us 
more  than  six  lessons  when  we  separated  for  the  summer,  but  he  gave 
us  an  impulse  to  work,  and  an  interest  in  drawing  which  his  modesty 
made  it  impossible  for  him  to  appreciate.  His  sincere  belief  that  he 
knew  too  little  of  the  technicalities  of  his  art  to  teach  made  him  un- 
dervalue the  help  he  gave ;  but  his  genius  could  kindle  the  latent  spark, 
without  which  any  help  is  valueless." 

In  September,  1847,  he  joined  Miss  Pitkin,  who,  with  her 
father,  was  visiting  some  friends  in  Eochester,  New  York,  and 
they  decided  to  be  married  there  and  go  on  a  wedding  journey 
to  Niagara.  He  was  glad  to  escape  wTedding  preparations  and 
festivities  w7hich  did  not  suit  his  sensitive  nature.     The  first 


96 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


winter  after  their  marriage  they  spent  with  his  sister,  Mrs. 
Goodman,  at  Astoria,  near  New  York  City.  He  made  por- 
traits in  New  York,  and  enjoyed  the  society  of  his  artist  friends 
there. 

In  the  summer  of  1848,  Seth  spent  some  time  at  Nahant,  with 
his  friend  Miss  Anna  C.  Lowell,  for  whom  he  made  several  draw- 
ings. A  few  extracts  from  her  journal  will  show  the  impression 
which  he  made  on  others  at  that  time. 

Cheney  arrived  at  dusk.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Henry  Ware  told  me  that  he 
had  promised  Cornelia  [Mrs.  Goddard,  afterwards  Mrs.  Charles  G. 
Loring]  to  come  down  to  Nahant  to  take  George's  picture,  and  I  sent 
him  an  invitation  to  stay  with  us.  He  is  so  agreeable,  and,  better  than 
that,  interesting,  on  account  of  his  transparency,  sincerity,  and  sweet- 
ness, that  it  is  a  pleasure  to  have  this  opportunity  of  seeing  him 
freely.  .  .  . 

Aug.  9.  —  He  seemed  to  enjoy  the  scenery  of  the  beaches,  Swamp- 
scott,  etc.  He  talked  very  pleasantly  of  his  travels  in  Europe,  and 
again  in  the  evening  about  the  celebrated  masters  in  painting,  their 
various  styles,  etc.,  all  with  perfect  naturalness  and  simplicity.  At 
half  past  eight  he  took  a  moonlight  walk  and  retired  early.  He  seems 
to  me  far  from  well,  is  thin  and  haggard,  though  his  eyes  are  bright 
and  spiritual  in  their  expression. 

He  alludes  frequently  to  his  tendency  to  depression,  speaks  of  the 
ocean,  especially  on' board  ship,  inspiring  him  with  melancholy ;  of  Paris 
being  too  exciting  for  his  mind,  and  Rome  too  desolate.  He  loved 
Florence,  because  it  is  so  quiet  and  peaceful  and  home-like  ;  prefers  the 
country  and  especially  mountain  scenery. 

Aug.  10.  —  Much  of  the  day  was  occupied  with  Mr.  Cheney.  .  .  . 
I  found  his  ideas  very  liberal  and  enlarged  and  yet  serious.  He  speaks 
so  frankly  and  without  a  shadow  of  dogmatism  or  reserve  or  affectation, 
that  it  is  refreshing  to  converse  with  him. 

This  afternoon  he  accompanied  us  again  in  our  drive.  We  were 
able  to  drive  on  the  beach  close  to  the  water,  and  he  was  charmed 
with  this,  and  drew  my  attention  to  every  change  of  aspect  in 
cloud,  sky,  or  water  j  pointed  out  every  bird  and  every  picturesque 
object. 


MARRIAGE  AND  LIFE  IN  AMERICA. 


97 


Aug.  11. —  I  found  him  a  strong  advocate  for  total  abstinence,  but 
all  in  his  own  calm,  candid,  suggestive  way.* 

Miss  Lowell  then  relates,  at  some  length,  conversations  which 
she  held  with  him,  speaking  enthusiastically  of  Mrs.  Goddard, 
Mrs.  Ware,  and  her  father,  and  adds  a  very  characteristic  pas- 
sage in  regard  to  Mr.  Lowell's  kindness  to  an  old  domestic. 

Mr.  Cheney's  eyes  glowed  with  that  radiant  look  they  have  when 
he  is  speaking  of  something  good  or  beautiful. 

"How  delightful  it  is  to  hear  of  such  instances ! "  said  he;  "how 
much  happiness  may  be  communicated  by  a  single  word  or  trifling  act 
of  kindness,  forgotten  perhaps,  by  the  giver,  but  never  forgotten  by  the 
receiver !  The  memory  of  your  father,  what  a  source  of  enjoyment  it 
must  be  to  that  poor  lone  woman  !  and  that  years  after  he  is  gone." 

"  And  his  kindness  to  her  returning  as  a  blessing  to  his  children," 
said  I,  "for  it  is  a  great  delight  to  us  to  hear  him  thus  spoken  of." 

"  Yes,  it  must  be  so  ;  no  good  word  or  deed  is  ever  lost  \  it  is  per- 
petually living  and  producing  fruit,"  said  he  with  emotion. 

After  tea  we  took  a  drive  by  moonlight.  The  night  was  clear  and 
soft,  the  sky  without  clouds  except  a  low  ridge  towards  the  east, 
through  which  the  heat-lightning  played.  The  twilight  had  scarcely 
faded  towards  the  west,  while  the  full  moon  shone  resplendently  and 
left  its  broad  golden  track  on  the  ocean.  Cheney  was  enchanted  with 
the  beauty  and  the  novelty  of  the  scene,  and  we  enjoyed  it  doubly  by 
witnessing  his  pleasure,  and  having  him  point  out  every  picturesque 
object,  and  every  effect  of  light  and  shade  and  form  and  hue,  with  a 
painter's  insight  and  a  poet's  taste,  and  his  own  spiritual  expression 
gleaming  out  from  his  deep,  earnest  eyes ;  now  serious,  now  radiant 
with  pleasure,  just  discerned  in  the  silvery  pale  light,  which  seemed 
well  suited  for  it,  enhanced  by,  and  in  harmony  with  the  spiritual 
beauty  of  the  scene.  He  made  us  observe  several  peculiar  and  beau- 
tiful effects  produced  by  the  moonlight  in  contrast  with  the  ocean  or 
rocks ;  for  instance,  above  dark  Egg  Rock  there  was  a  line  of  light, 
but  above  the  broad  golden  reflection  of  the  moonbeams  on  the  water, 

*  He  was  not  always  an  advocate  for  total  abstinence,  but  at  times  thought 
the  use  of  good  light  wines  would  be  rather  a  preventive  of  drunkenness.  But 
he  was  so  sympathetic  in  conversation  that  people  often  fancied  he  advocated 
doctrines  he  only  did  not  dissent  from. 

7 


4 


98  MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 

seemed  to  rise  up  a  dark  pyramid  mysteriously  looming  up  from  the 
horizon.  Around  the  point  of  little  Nahant,  too,  gleamed  a  brilliant 
light  concentrating  in  one  bright  pencil  of  silvery  rays  at  the  extreme 
point. 

Aug.  17. — This  morning  he  got  so  discouraged  about  Georgie's 
picture  and  Cornelia's  too,  that  he  said  he  believed  the  best  way  would 
be  to  roll  them  up,  and  let  them  remain  for  several  months,  and  per- 
haps he  could  make  something  of  them  then  ;  now  he  had  got  to  a 
standpoint  and  did  not  feel  as  if  he  gained  ground.  We  begged  him 
not  to  do  this,  and  encouraged  him  as  much  as  we  could.  Georgie's 
is  a  lovely  picture,  and  looks  like  him,  though  a  little  older-looking 
and  perhaps  defective  in  a  few  particulars. 

He  said,  "Well  then  !  he  would  go  on  and  try  what  he  could  do." 
Accordingly,  he  worked  hard  upon  Georgie's  all  day,  often  for  several 
hours  together  in  his  own  room,  and  he  did  improve  it  wonderfully 
and  felt  in  much  better  spirits.  He  then  said  that  last  evening  he 
had  felt  utterly  discouraged ;  that  it  always  was  so ;  he  had  never 
drawn  a  picture,  that  he  did  not  feel  at  the  time  that  it  should  be  the 
last,  that  he  would  go  back  to  the  plough. 

He  spoke  of  "  Comus  "  as  more  beautiful  to  him  than  even  "  Paradise 
Lost." 

Glancing  round  the  point  of  land,  as  we  were  looking  out  intently 
at  it,  he  said,  "  There  !  this  is  our  last  look  at  that ;  we  shall  never  see 
just  this  again.  Does  it  not  often  strike  you  when  you  are  seeing  a 
beautiful  but  passing  scene  in  nature,  or,  indeed,  enjoying  anything, 
this  thought,  that  it  can  never  return  1  There  may  be  other  aspects 
or  pleasures,  but  not  this  one  again ;  it  is  the  last  time." 

All  things  pleasant  come  to  an  end,  and  we  found  ourselves  soon 
after  in  our  little,  plain,  prosaic  parlor. 

"  This  has  been  delightful,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Cheney,  "  something 
rescued  from  Chaos." 

Aug.  22. — Miss    called.    She  admires  Cheney  with  her 

usual  extravagance.  "  The  truth  is,"  she  said,  "  Cheney  is  not  a  man, 
he  is  an  angel."  She  said  he  was  the  most  impersonal  being  she  ever 
saw ;  not  but  that  he  takes  great  interest  himself  in  persons,  for  he  is 
remarkable  for  doing  so,  but  he  has  not  a  particle  of  egotism,  and 
speaks  of  himself,  his  family  affairs  or  personal  feelings,  as  little  as 
possible. 


MARRIAGE  AND  LIFE  IN  AMERICA. 


99 


During  the  years  1848  and  1849  he  once  more  engaged 
in  engraving.  His  friend,  Mr.  Stephen  Perkins,  published  a 
volume  of  outlines  from  Allston,  for  which  the  brothers,  Seth 
and  John,  made  the  engravings.  The  preface  sufficiently  ex- 
plains the  work:  — 

"  The  outlines  and  sketches  contained  in  this  volume  are  a  part  of 
those  found  in  Mr.  Allston's  studio  in  Caxn^idge,  Mass.,  after  his 
death  in  July,  1843.  They  consist  in  great  part  of  compositions  hastily 
sketched  in  chalk,  and  never  carried  further ;  among  them,  however, 
are  a  few  outlines  in  umber,  on  canvas,  which,  although  more  care- 
fully done,  should  not  be  considered  as  finished  outlines,  since  they 
were  intended  merely  as  a  ground  on  which  to  paint.  The  sizes  of 
the  figures  in  the  different  compositions  vary  from  that  of  life  to  a  few 
inches  in  length,  and  where  it  was  necessary  to  reduce  them  for 
engraving,  the  daguerreotype  was  used,  by  which  the  image  was  con- 
veyed to  the  engraver's  plates,  prepared  for  that  purpose,  and  there 
fixed  by  tracing  the  line  through  the  silver. 

"  Boston,  Jan.  1,  1850." 

The  greater  part  of  Allston's  works  here  represented  are  now 
the  property  of  the  Boston  Art  Museum,  but  the  book  also  con- 
tains reproductions  of  outline  tracings  of  the  great  picture  of 
"  Jacob's  Dream,"  which  is  in  England ;  of  "  Uriel,"  and  of 
"  Michael  setting  the  Watch,"  a  composition  of  Allston's,  after- 
wards destroyed. 

Some  experiments  were  made  in  novel  styles  of  engraving,  to 
represent  the  technical  peculiarities  of  the  originals.  The  work 
was  done  by  the  brothers  so  much  together  that  it  is  difficult  to 
distinguish  what  belonged  to  either.  Most  of  it  is  engraved 
with  a  dry  point.  The  "  Prometheus  "  and  "  Prodigal  Son  "  were 
engraved  on  stone  by  J ohn,  and  Seth  engraved  the  "  Heliodorus," 
and  some  others  entirely.  The  darkening  of  one  line  to  give 
strength  to  the  outline  may  be  regarded  as  a  mistake,  but  as  a 
whole  the  engraving  is  very  delicate  and  spirited,  and  the  work 
gives  a  truer  idea  of  the  subtle  and  spiritual  genius  of  Allston 


100 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


than  anything  accessible  to  the  general  public.  But  although 
much  valued  by  lovers  of  art,  the  book  did  not  find  a  ready  sale, 
and  brought  no  pecuniary  remuneration  to  the  publisher,  and 
little  to  the  engravers.  It  is  now  very  scarce,  the  plates  hav- 
ing been  destroyed  in  the  great  Boston  fire,  so  that  it  cannot  be 
reproduced. 

Mr.  Allston  had  ^Irawn  some  of  the  sketches  with  a  double 
line,  and  the  artists,  with  their  friendly  critics,  Mr.  Perkins  and 
Mr.  Franklin  Dexter,  were  anxiously  considering  how  to  render 
them,  —  which  line  should  be  reproduced.  "  I  shall  give  both," 
said  Seth,  "  I  will  never  take  it  upon  me  to  leave  out  anything 
of  Allston's." 

The  birth  of  a  child  in  1848  failed  to  bring  the  long-antici- 
pated happiness,  since  the  little  creature  died  in  a  few  hours. 
Mrs.  Cheney's  health  failed,  and  she  sought  renovation  at  the 
Brattleboro'  Water  Cure,  where  Mr.  Cheney  joined  her  in  the 
intervals  of  relaxation  from  work. 

In  August  and  September  he  made  a  journey  with  his  brother 
Frank  to  Portland  and  Bangor,  by  steamer,  to  Sebago  Lake  and 
the  White  Mountains,  and  thence  to  Burlington,  to  see  his  friend 
Hills,  and  by  Lake  George  and  across  Vermont  to  his  home. 

Friday  (postmarked  Sept.  11). 
Dear  John,  —  I  went  with  Frank,  after  his  return  from  the 
West,  to  Boston  and  to  Nahant,  and  finished  my  drawings,  and  then 
took  passage  for  Bangor  on  the  Penobscot,  and  then  across  to  the  Ken- 
nebec, and  down  to  Portland ;  and  as  Frank  did  not  seem  to  feel  like 
returning  yet,  and  was  gaining  so  much  in  health  and  spirits,  con- 
cluded to  go  to  the  White  Mountains ;  only  we  regretted  you  were  not 
with  us,  as  we  had  talked  so  long  about  going  there  together,  and  about 
a  thousand  times  on  the  way  wished  you  were  with  us.  We  had  a  good 
time  and  enjoyed  all.  I  think  I  never  enjoyed  a  journey  more  in  any 
country.  The  mountains  altogether  surpassed  my  expectations  in 
grandeur  and  extent.  I  would  go  a  long  way  farther  to  see  them 
again  than  to  Niagara,  and  would  say  to  any  one  who  could  see  but 


MARKIAGE  AND  LIFE  IN  AMERICA. 


101 


one  of  them,  to  go  by  all  means  to  the  mountains.  We  came  across 
to  Lakes  Champlain  and  George,  beautiful  as  any  Lake  Maggiore  or 
Como,  to  say  the  least.  I  mean  to  go  next  year  and  spend  half  the 
summer  there,  and  make  sketches  on  the  lakes  and  mountains;  find 
the  picturesque  everywhere.  We  arrived  at  Albany  on  Wednesday. 
Prank  had  business  in  Paterson  and  New  York,  so  I  came  home  by 
the  railroad  to  Springfield.  Emily  will  go  to  Brattleboro'  next  week  ; 
the  Doctor  thinks  it  will  take  three  months  to  effect  a  cure.  She  will 
probably  be  all  winter  in  the  cure  ;  it  will  be  best  to  make  a  thorough 
business  of  it.  I  shall  go  to  Boston  immediately  from  Brattleboro'  to 
draw  the  portrait  of  a  sick  lady,  that  I  have  solemnly  promised  to  do 
by  the  middle  of  September.  I  shall  very  likely  be  in  Boston  a  couple 
of  months  ;  shall  you  be  there  sooner,  or  shall  you  be  at  home  %  At  all 
events,  don't  stay  in  Philadelphia. 

The  following  year  was  saddened  by  his  youngest  brother 
Frank's  absence  in  California,  whence  he  returned  very  ill  with 
fever.  Seth  was  summoned  to  him  at  Manchester,  and  happily 
found  him  recovering. 

His  wife  returned  to  Manchester  very  ill,  and  the  symptoms 
indicated  consumption,  a  disease  of  which  several  of  her  family 
had  died.  The  following  extract  from  a  letter  of  Mrs.  Harriet 
B.  Cheney  to  her  son  gives  a  picture  of  Emily's  sick-room :  — 

Manchester,  Mar.  15,  1850. 
Your  Aunt  Emily  continues  to  linger  on  the  borders  of  the  grave  ; 
she  suffers  very  little,  and  is  cheerful  and  resigned.  Your  Uncle  Seth 
is  devoted  to  her,  and  her  room  is  filled  with  everything  beautiful  to 
the  eye,  pictures,  and  flowers,  and  mosses.  He  has  made  "a  chair  for 
her  which  is  almost  as  comfortable  as  a  spring-bed,  and  he  draws  her 
about  in  it. 

Seth  made  a  picture  of  her  looking  upward  in  prayer,  which, 
in  its  expression  of  holy  religious  rapture,  is  unsurpassed  by  that 
of  any  saint  ever  painted  by  a  Catholic  artist.  She  died  May 
11,  1850. 

In  the  autumn  of  1850  Mr.  Cheney  had  a  very  severe  illness. 


102  MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 

He  had  been  drawing  at  Newport  that  summer.  Sea-shore  life 
and  air  always  had  an  unfavorable  effect  upon  his  health  and 
spirits.  He  had  also  been  imprudent  in  bathing  in  the  hot  sun. 
He  started  to  go  to  Manchester,  but  stopped  for  the  night  at 
Stonington,  feeling  very  unwell.  He  thought  he  should  die,  and 
that  no  one  would  know  where  he  was.  He  asked  the  landlord  for 
pen  and  paper,  but  there  was  none  in  the  house  ;  he  went  out  and 
bought  it,  and  wrote  to  his  sister,  not  saying  that  he  was  ill,  but 
only  indicating  where  he  was.  The  next  morning,  feeling  very  ill, 
he  started  for  Manchester.  A  camp-meeting  on  the  route  attracted 
many  visitors,  some  of  whom  were  singing  their  Methodist 
hymns  in  the  cars,  while  others,  mocking  them  with  ribald  songs, 
made  the  cars  so  noisy  that,  to  his  aching  sensitive  brain,  it 
seemed  like  Pandemonium.  He  reached  home  at  last,  fevered, 
sick.  He  wandered  from  room  to  room,  seeking  rest  and  finding 
none,  until,  at  last,  too  weak  to  move,  he  lay  down  in  the  south 
room  to  endure  the  struggle  between  life  and  death.  His 
disease  amounted  to  a  high  nervous  or  brain  fever,  and  his  state 
was  very  critical.  A  homoeopathic  physician  from  Hartford, 
Dr.  Schue,  attended  him,  and  his  brother  John  watched  over 
him.  A  cough  ensued,  but  the  physician  said  his  lungs  were 
stronger  than  his  head,  and  he  could  bear  it.  After  the  fever 
abated,  he  recovered  steadily,  though  he  was  long  weak.  How 
he  enjoyed  the  delicious  pears  and  peaches,  and  how  he  mourned 
for  the  golden  autumn  days  which  passed  while  he  could  not  go 
out !  Autumn  was  his  favorite  season.  His  health  was  then 
better  than  usual,  and  he  loved  its  rich  mellow  beauty.  Ward 
took  him  to  ride  one  day,  but  although  he  enjoyed  it,  it  ex- 
hausted him. 

During  this  sickness  he  felt  a  strong  desire  for  life  ;  he  could 
not  resign  it.  Six  years  later,  when  he  lay  in  that  room  strug- 
gling between  life  and  death,  he  was  calm  and  peaceful. 

When  sufficiently  recovered  he  went  to  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  and 


MARRIAGE  AND  LIFE  IN  AMERICA. 


103 


spent  the  winter  with  Henry  K.  Brown,  working  in  his  studio. 
He  modelled  a  head  of  his  brother  John,  and  several  copies  of 
the  antique,  among  them  the  "  Boy  and  Goose."  He  studied 
anatomy,  making  drawings  of  the  muscles  in  a  little  pocket 
sketch-book,  which  he  was  accustomed  to  carry  in  his  pocket, 
that  he  might  study  it  when  crossing  the  ferry.  He  had  at  some 
time  attended  a  course  of  dissections. 

He  made  great  improvement  in  the  stronger  modelling  of  his 
heads.  There  is  an  exquisite  feeling  in  his  earlier  works  which 
could  not  be  surpassed,  but  his  later  drawings  have  a  more 
assured,  thorough  truthfulness  of  expression,  and  he  never  rose 
higher  than  in  some  of  his  latest  pictures. 

His  matured  thought  did  not  destroy,  but  deepened  his  early 
enthusiasm.  He  once  said,  "  It  troubles  me  that  beautiful 
Nature  does  not  give  me  the  same  delight  and  excitement  it 
used  to."  But  he  never  lost  a  full,  calm,  and  sober  joy  in  Nature 
to  the  last  days  of  his  life. 

COPY  OF  A  LETTER  OF  T.  R.  GOULD  TO  MOTHER  CHENEY. 

Boston,  Nov.  11,  1850. 

Dear  Madam,  —  A  change  of  hour,  made  two  days  before  in  the 
starting  of  the  train,  threatened  to  keep  me  in  Hartford  till  three 
o'clock  on  Friday  afternoon,  and  allow  a  very  short  time  in  Manches- 
ter. So  I  hired  a  vehicle  and  was  driven  out  directly  to  the  old  home. 
There  it  lay,  on  the  slope,  as  usual,  smoking  contentedly. 

Seth  opened  the  door,  and  drew  me  in  with  eyes  of  wonder ;  at 
first  he  thought  it  must  be  a  dream,  but  concluded  that  I  came  down 
in  the  hail-storm  that  was  then  falling.  He  seemed  well  and  in  good 
spirits,  was  troubled  with  a  great  appetite  at  dinner,  said  his  head  felt 
clear.  He  was  very  beautiful,  —  in  my  eyes,  he  always  was,  —  and  now 
with  his  complete  beard  and  high  head,  looked  like  Shakespeare.  Per- 
haps the  low  ceiling  of  the  old  house  aided  this  fancy,  resembling 
mayhap  the  poet's  at  Stratford.  Frank  was  in  fine  condition.  Rush's 
little  daughter  made  her  first  successful  effort  in  walking  alone,  to  the 
great  glee  of  the  child  and  joy  of  the  parents. 


104 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


I  missed  Emily  never  so  much  as  there,  —  that  pure  and  joyous 
spirit  that  has  gone  up  before.  I  suppose  we  all  thought  of  her,  but  no 
one  spoke.  Seth  sat  in  the  easy-chair,  and  we  talked  three  hours  away 
very  swiftly.  I  asked  him  your  Christian  name  carelessly,  —  he  little 
knew  for  what  purpose. 

Tell  Electa,  the  younger,  "  the  one  fair  daughter,  and  no  more,  the 
which  you  love  passing  well,"  with  my  friendliest  remembrance,  that 
I  not  only  did  not  urge  Seth  to  come  to  Boston  this  winter,  but 
advised  him  not  to  come ;  this  went  ivith  my  head,  but  against  my 
heart,  and  yet  deeply  with  my  heart.    I  hope  to  see  you  all  in  January. 

So  you  have  heard  Jenny  Lind,  and  perhaps  the  finest  music  that 
floats  anywhere  in  this  world's  atmosphere.  She  is  a  good  girl.  How 
much  personal  character  adds  to  all  pleasures  of  art ! 

I  am,  with  respect  and  affection,  always 

Yours,        Thomas  R.  Gould. 

This  brief  note  to  Mr.  Cheney  tells  its  own  story :  — 

National  Academy  of  Design, 
New  York,  May  11,  1848. 

Sir,  —  I  take  the  liberty  to  inform  you  that  at  a  meeting  of  the 
Academy  on  Wednesday,  the  10th  inst.  you  were  elected  an  Associate. 
On  application  the  Curator  will  furnish  you  a  copy  of  the  Constitution, 
By-Laws,  etc.  Very  respectfully, 

E.  W.  Edmonds, 

Recording  Secretary. 

His  friend,  Henry  Peters  Gray,  painted  a  portrait  of  him  for 
the  Academy.  It  has  much  of  his  sweetness  and  beauty,  but  a 
little  too  much  of  the  fine  gentleman  to  be  quite  characteristic. 


HOME  LIFE. 


105 


CHAPTEE  VII. 
HOME  LIFE. 

TN"  the  summer  of  1851,  Mr.  Cheney  planned  a  trip  to  the 
White  Mountains  with  his  brother  John,  and  his  sister, 
Mrs.  Goodman.  It  was  arranged  that  they  should  meet  at 
Brattleboro',  whither  he  went,  and  lodged  at  the  Vermont  House. 
Owing  to  the  illness  of  one  of  the  party,  they  failed  to  meet  him, 
and  he  waited  there  a  few  days  alone.  Here  our  acquaintance 
commenced.  He  took  his  seat  beside  me  at  table,  and  described 
to  me  the  walk  he  had  taken  over  the  hills,  and  the  beautiful 
effect  of  the  sound  of  church  bells  re-echoed  from  the  mountains 
around.  A  walk  was  arranged  by  my  friends  for  the  evening, 
and  we  said,  "  Ought  we  to  ask  Mr.  Cheney  to  go,  or  should  he 
offer  to  accompany  us  ? "  "  He  will  never  offer  to  go,  he  is  so 
diffident,"  said  the  lady  who  knew  him  best ;  but  he  accepted 
the  invitation  with  that  peculiar  lighting  up  of  the  countenance 
which  was  so  radiant  and  expressive. 

On  Monday  morning  I  left  Brattleboro'  for  a  visit  to  my  aunt, 
at  the  little  mountain  town  of  Dublin,  near  the  grand  Monadnock. 
Mr.  John  L.  Eussell,  the  botanist,  and  one  or  two  other  gentle- 
men had  proposed  to  come  to  Dublin  to  make  an  ascent  of  this 
mountain.  They  came  to  the  station  to  take  leave  of  me,  and 
were  talking  of  it,  so  that  I  said  to  Mr.  Cheney,  "  As  you-  are 
disappointed  of  your  trip  to  the  White  Mountains,  will  you  not 
join  the  party  to  Monadnock  ?  " 

He  went  to  Dublin  on  Wednesday  alone,  and,  thinking  it  too 
late  in  the  evening  to  call,  sat  on  the  steps  of  the  old  church, 


106 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


enjoying  the  beauty  of  the  moonlight  on  the  mountains  around. 
On  Thursday  he  came  to  Dr.  Leonard's,  and  we  went  to  ride 
together,  and  arranged  to  go  with  a  party  of  relatives  to  Monad- 
nock  on  Friday.  It  was  found  impossible  to  procure  more  than 
one  horse,  and  we  were  therefore  obliged  to  walk  a  great  part 
even  of  the  level  distance,  and  the  ascent  was  steep  and  fatiguing 
to  one  unused  to  climbing,  especially  as  the  weather  was  very 
warm. 

As  we  neared  the  summit  I  spoke  of  an  ascent  of  Mt.  Wash- 
ington, and  of  my  feeling  at  finding,  far  above  other  vegetation, 
amid  storm  and  mist,  a  tiny  white  flower  which  seemed  like  a 
baby's  smile.  At  that  moment  I  looked  down,  and  there  it  was. 
Mr.  Cheney  drew  back  as  if  from  a  shrine,  and  said,  with  the 
most  reverent  tone,  "Why,  I  had  almost  trodden  on  it."  He 
was  so  fatigued  that  he  did  not  come  to  the  house  until  Sunday, 
when  he  came  and  spent  the  day,  and  went  to  church.  Dr. 
Leonard,  the  pastor,  was  a  man  of  the  purest  religious  nature. 
His  quiet  preaching,  the  beauty  of  nature  as  seen  from  the  win- 
dows of  the  church,  and  the  harmonious  feeling  of  the  congre- 
gation, made  the  whole  service  so  peaceful  that  Seth  enjoyed  it 
more  than  any  religious  rite  I  ever  attended  with  him.  At 
evening  we  climbed  Beach  Hill  for  the  sunset  view. 

Monday  morning,  he  appeared  with  a  horse  and  vehicle  which 
almost  defies  description,  —  an  old  yellow  chaise  much  the  worse 
for  wear,  and  a  horse  whose  angular  outline  and  peculiar  gait 
told  the  history  of  years  of  hard  service  on  the  mountains.  For 
a  week  we  rode  daily  in  this  vehicle,  often  stopping  in  the 
woods  and  tying  the  horse  to  a  tree  while  we  gathered  flowers, 
or  with  a  long  pole  fished  lilies  from  the  ponds.  These  excur- 
sions filled  the  country  people  with  wonder  and  amusement. 
At  this  time  Mr.  Cheney  wore  his  beard  long,  which  was  very 
uncommon  in  New  England,  and  a  straw  hat  with  a  broad  brim, 
and  a  black  ribbon  around  it ;  and,  moreover,  had  the  habit  of 


HOME  LIFE. 


107 


using  a  small  dark  mirror  to  observe  the  lights  and  shadows  of 
the  landscape  more  perfectly.  They  said,  "  He  certainly  was  not 
proud  or  he  would  not  ride  in  that  old  yellow  chaise."  He 
joined  good-naturedly  in  the  merriment  of  the  young  members 
of  the  household,  and  one  day  brought  up  a  drawing  he  had 
made  of  the  equipage.  We  laughed  till  we  were  hoarse  at  the 
amusing  caricature.  Many  years  after,  his  brother  Ward  saw 
this  drawing  for  the  first  time,  and  the  tears  came  to  his  eyes 
at  the  likeness  to  his  brother's  form  and  action.  I  know  of  no 
other  comic  picture  from  his  hand. 

In  the  autumn  and  winter  he  still  occupied  Dr.  Gannett's 
vestry.  The  principal  room  was  very  large  and  high,  with  one 
great  window,  the  lower  part  of  which  he  boarded  up  to  get  a 
high  light  only.  Here  he  had  his  casts,  a  few  books,  and  a  grand 
piano,  and  in  spite  of  the  coldness  and  dreariness  of  the  apart- 
ment he  enjoyed  the  space  and  freedom  it  afforded  him.  The 
boys  of  the  neighborhood  climbed  up,  and  peeped  in  at  the  win- 
dow, and  seeing  the  white  statues  in  the  dim  light,  spread  the 
rumor  that  it  was  haunted ;  and  the  little  mice  came  fearlessly 
out  from  their  holes  to  eat  the  crumbs  of  bread  which  dropped 
from  his  hand  as  he  erased  his  drawing.  He  and  John  occupied 
rooms  above  as  sleeping-rooms,  taking  their  meals  at  the  United 
States  Hotel.  His  friend,  Kimberley,  often  played  and  sang  to 
him  here,  and  his  artist  friends  sometimes  worked  or  talked  with 
him. 

He  had  constant  commissions,  and  drew  thirty  portraits  dur- 
ing the  winter.  Among  them  is  one  of  Dr.  James  Walker,  and 
two  very  beautiful  pictures  of  children,  the  daughters  of  his 
friends,  Mr.  Ingersoll  Bowditch  and  Mr.  Stephen  Perkins.  He 
vacillated  a  little  at  this  time  between  sculpture  and  painting, 
and  made  the  admirable  bas-relief  portrait  of  Mr.  A.  Bronsou 
Alcott.  His  health  was  not  good,  and  he  suffered  especially 
from  trouble  in  the  throat.    He  made  the  acquaintance  of  my 


108 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


friend,  M  S  ,  and  took  the  greatest  delight  in  her  rare 

spiritual  powers  and  natural  love  of  art.  He  carried  her  flowers, 
pictures,  books,  and  tried  to  help  her  to  give  outward  form  to 
the  pictures  of  her  fancy.  He  speaks  of  her  "  as  that  wonderful 
being  who  seems  hardly  to  belong  to  this  earth,  but  a  spirit  from 
another  and  a  higher  sphere."  He  adds :  "  To  see  this  beautiful 
child  confined  to  this  narrow  room,  and  often  racked  with  tor- 
turing cramps  and  spasms,  still  seeming  so  glad  and  happy,  made 
me  condemn  myself,  who  could  walk  freely  under  the  sun,  and 
had  hands  to  do,  for  ever  murmuring  at  anything." 

He  was  much  exhausted  by  the  labor  and  excitement  of  the 
winter,  and  went  early  in  the  summer  to  his  mother's  home  in 
Manchester,  where  he  spent  several  weeks  very  quietly.  In 
August  he  bought  a  horse,  and  went  on  horseback  to  Berkshire 
County.  He  visited  Miss  Catherine  Sedgwick,  and  made  a  draw- 
ing of  her.  He  found  the  horseback  exercise  too  violent,  so  that 
he  was  quite  ill,  and  he  procured  a  light  open  wagon  in  which 
he  came  to  Dublin  with  his  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henry  K. 
Brown. 

I  was  again  visiting  at  Dr.  Leonard's,  and  our  engagement 
took  place  here,  and  was  followed  by  quiet,  happy  weeks  spent 
in  riding  and  walking  among  the  beautiful  scenery  of  that  region. 
We  left  Dublin  on  a  frosty  morning  in  September,  with  my 
sister  Helen,  in  the  little  wagon,  and,  stopping  first  at  Peterboro' 
to  take  leave  of  our  dear  friend,  Ariana  S.  Walker,  we  rode  all 
day  to  Harvard  in  Worcester  County.  It  was  one  of  those  per- 
fect days  of  which  there  are  not  many  in  any  life.  We  took 
turns  in  walking  up  the  hills  in  the  crisp  autumn  air,  and  gloried 
in  the  ripening  beauty  of  the  forests,  and  so  travelled  forty  miles 
without  fatigue  either  to  the  horse  or  ourselves.  We  spent  the 
night  at  the  picturesque  home  of  my  quaint  old  friend,  Henry 
B.  Pearson,  who  had  once  been  so  charmed  by  my  telling  him 
that  Mr.  Cheney  changed  the  position  of  the  stones  in  a  brook 


HOME  LIFE.  109 

to  improve  the  music,  that  he  begged  me  to  invite  him  to  his 
house.  The  old  house  stood  amid  large,  open  fields,  with  long 
avenues  of  elms  leading  from  the  doors,  and  with  distant  views 
of  the  Bolton  hills  and  the  lake.  "  And  they  put  the  pilgrim  to 
sleep  in  a  large  upper  room  whose  windows  looked  towards  the 
sunrising,  and  the  name  of  that  chamber  was  1  Peace.' "  Mr. 
Cheney  always  referred  to  that  as  a  blessed  night,  when  he  lay 
down  and  slept  until  morning  as  he  had  not  done  since  child- 
hood. When  he  was  once  afterward  unable  to  meet  me  at  that 
house,  he  wrote  me  to  be  sure  to  sleep  in  that  room. 

He  did  not  draw  as  many  portraits  this  winter  as  in  the  year 
before.  He  was  rather  anxious  to  make  a  change  in  his  style, 
and  he  gave  much  time  to  study.  Color  attracted  him  very 
strongly,  and  he  had  already  made  some  essays  in  painting ;  but 
the  great  demand  for  his  crayon  portraits  had  prevented  him 
from  giving  sufficient  attention  to  it,  to  overcome  perfectly  the 
mechanical  difficulties  of  manipulation.  We  studied  anatomy 
together  by  taking  certain  parts  of  the  body  for  a  model,  which 
he  would  mould  in  clay  and  I  would  draw  on  a  slate,  while  we 
also  studied  the  names,  attachments,  and  use  of  the  muscles. 
He  made  an  excellent  copy  of  the  "  Fighting  Gladiator "  as  a 
study,  and  began  a  bust  of  my  sister  Helen,  which  rivals  the 
antique  head  of  Antinoiis  in  purity  of  line  and  beauty  of  feature. 
Mr.  Billings  felt  that  he  might  become  a  great  sculptor,  and 
urged  him  to  that  work.  He  had  a  slight  defect  of  color-blind- 
ness, which  made  him  distrustful  of  his  sight  in  color ;  but  I  do 
not  think  it  affected  either  his  feeling  or  expression.  The  winter 
was  rich  in p work  and  in  social  enjoyment.  In  March  we  took 
a  trip  to  Dublin  to  see  the  glory  of  the  mountains  in  winter,  but 
the  visit  was  saddened  by  the  severe  illness  of  one  of  my  cousins. 
In  spite  of  it,  however,  he  enjoyed  the  quiet  and  the  beauties 
of  the  frost  and  snow,  and  made  a  drawing  of  Ednah  Dow 
Smith,  a  girl  of  eleven  years  old,  which  is  one  of  his  most 


110  MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 

# 

charming  works.  Her  sister's  illness  gave  a  touch  of  pensive- 
ness  to  a  character  naturally  bright  and  sunny,  and  the  picture 
is  as  remarkable  for  perfect  delineation  of  character  as  for 
masterly  breadth  and  simplicity  of  light  and  shadow,  and 
thorough  drawing.  The  likeness  is  still  recognized  in  her  and 
in  her  children. 

We  were  married,  May  19,  1853,  by  Theodore  Parker.  We 
spent  a  few  weeks  in  travelling,  visiting  Trenton  Falls  and  Phila- 
delphia, spending  a  few  days  with  his  sister  at  Eavenswood,  K  Y., 
and  then  going  to  South  Manchester  for  the  summer.  He  made 
a  portrait  of  his  brother  Ward's  wife  here,  and  began  one  of 
myself,  which  was  never  finished  to  his  satisfaction.  In  August 
we  took  a  trip  to  the  White  Mountains,  spent  a  night  on  Mt. 
Washington,  a  week  at  North  Conway,  and  returned  to  Boston 
by  Portland  and  Gloucester. 

In  September  we  went  to  housekeeping  at  No.  80  Pinckney  St., 
and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  master  of  a  home.  He 
said,  "  Let  us  furnish  the  house  for  ourselves  and  not  for  other 
people.  There  are  plenty  of  fine  parlors  in  Beacon  Street  for 
people  to  look  at.  Let  ours  be  comfortable  and  fitted  to  us." 
So  of  the  north  front  parlor  we  made  a  studio,  in  which  we  put 
the  old  grand  piano,  a  large  easel,  a  few  chairs,  and  some  casts 
and  engravings,  while  the  sunny  back  room  was  made  cosey  and 
pleasant  for  daily  use.  On  Sunday  evening  Mr.  Kimberley 
would  wander  off  into  the  studio,  and  play  and  sing  in  his  own 
simple  and  heartfelt  style  some  of  the  grandest  themes  of  modern 
composers.  Brother  John  and  Ednah  Smith  were  with  us 
through  the  winter.  As  Ednah  followed  into  the  room  to  hear 
Kimberley  play,  he  suddenly  caught  sight  of  her  face,  which  he 
had  not  remarked  before,  and  exclaimed,  "  A  likeness ! "  as  he 
recognized  the  original  of  the  picture  drawn  at  Dublin. 

Seth's  mother  died  October  12,  1853,  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
three.   He  was  with  her  for  some  weeks  during  her  illness,  and  at 


HOME  LIFE. 


Ill 


the  time  of  her  death.  When  I  joined  him,  I  found  him  very- 
calm  and  brave  while  he  could  help  others,  but  when  we  were 
alone  he  wept  almost  like  a  child,  and  so  relieved  the  tension  of 
his  nerves.  He  felt  that  he  could  have  asked  nothing  more  for 
his  mother  than  this  happy  departure  with  her  children  all  about 
her,  yet  the  separation  sank  deeply  into  his  heart.  She  was  a 
true  New  England  woman.  Her  sons  wished  themselves  to 
bear  to  the  grave  the  body  of  the  mother  who  bore  them,  but 
in  deference  to  the  feelings  of  the  old  neighbors  among  whom 
she  had  lived  in  friendship  so  long,  they  invited  them  to  act  as 
bearers.  But  her  seven  living  sons  and  her  daughter's  husband, 
eight  active  handsome  men,  walked  together  under  the  old  maple- 
trees,  planted  by  her  husband's  hand,  which  were  so  full  of  the 
golden  yellow  of  their  ripeness  that  we  did  not  miss  the  sun- 
shine, though  a  few  drops  of  rain  fell  as  they  laid  her  in  her  last 
resting-place.  When  I  went  into  "mother's  bedroom,"  where 
the  whole  family  had  loved  to  gather  around  her,  I  found  Seth 
and  John  lighting  a  fire  there.  "  I  could  not  bear  to  see  it  look 
neglected  and  desolate,"  said  Seth.  "  Let  us  keep  all  that  re- 
mains ! " 

Soon  after  this,  my  friend,  Miss  Walker,  came  to  us  so  ill  that 
she  was  brought  on  a  couch,  and  of  course  all  our  arrangements 
had  to  conform  to  her  comfort.  Seth  welcomed  her  warmly, 
brought  her  some  little  pleasure  every  day,  and  said,  "  It  seems 
to  sanctify  our  home  to  receive  and  bless  one  so  suffering."  She 
left  us  to  go  to  her  brother's  at  Springfield,  and  we  went  to 
Manchester  for  Thanksgiving.  The  shadow  of  the  recent  loss 
was  over  the  old  house,  but  all  felt  that  the  family  festival  must 
be  kept  up  with  spirit,  and  the  brothers  had  a  frolic  at  which 
the  little  nephews  and  nieces  looked  on  amazed.  Seth  was  very 
fond  of  fun  and  wit  and  laughter,  yet  he  more  often  enjoyed  it 
in  others  than  gave  vent  to  it  himself,  but  under  the  inspiration  i 
of  Kimberley's  music  he  and  his  brothers  joined  in  an  extempo- 
raneous concert  not  of  the  classic  order. 


112 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


In  March  he  had  a  severe  attack  of  trouble  in  the  throat,  and 
went  to  his  sister's  in  Havens  wood,  for  a  few  weeks  of  change 
and  rest.  While  there  scarlet  fever  broke  out  in  the  family,  and 
slightly  affected  him,  so  that  he  was  not  well,  and  accomplished 
but  little  work  through  the  spring  months.  The  prosperous  con- 
dition of  business  decided  us  to  fulfil  a  cherished  plan  of  going 
to  Europe.  He  desired  greatly  to  break  up  the  routine  of  crayon 
drawing,  and  make  a  special  study  of  color,  which  he  found  it 
difficult  to  do  amid  the  many  demands  for  work  at  home.  He 
did  not  believe  that  an  artist  should  live  in  Europe. 

The  last  week  in  the  home  was  one  whose  history  belongs  to 
that  of  the  country,  but  which  brought  terrible  mental  strug- 
gles into  every  heart  and  home.  Anthony  Burns  was  arrested 
as  a  fugitive  slave,  was  tried  before  Commissioner  Loring,  and 
finally  returned  to  his  master. 

There  was  no  lukewarmness  in  Seth's  feeling  about  slavery. 
He  was  thoroughly  and  heartily  an  abolitionist,  and  always  gave 
his  sympathy  and  support  to  that  cause.  The  whole  city  was 
full  of  excitement.  It  was  a  test  case,  because  there  was  suffi- 
cient legal  ground  to  clear  the  prisoner,  if  the  heart  of  his 
judges  was  so  inclined.  Theodore  Parker  said,  "  I  tell  you  he 
will  not  be  carried  away."  Wendell  Phillips  believed  "  Loring 
wished  to  save  him  and  he  could."  Eich  men  stood  ready  to 
buy  him.  As  it  became  evident  that  he  would  not  be  legally 
freed,  men  said  "  he  must  not  be  taken  away  from  Boston,"  and 
former  lovers  of  peace  counselled  actual  violence  to  prevent  it. 

Seth  was  agitated  to  the  very  depths  of  his  soul.  He  could 
not  give  his  mind  either  to  his  art,  or  to  the  necessary  measures 
for  breaking  up  our  household.  He  haunted  the  scene  of  the 
trial,  and  felt  his  blood  boiling  for  action,  though  no  action  was 
possible  but  direct  violence  in  conflict  with  legal  force.  It 
I  brought  up  in  his  mind  the  greatest  questions  of  conscience  and 
duty,  and  the  providence  of  God,  which  suffers  the  wickedness 


HOME  LIFE. 


113 


of  men  to  prevail  so  long.  One  night  we  talked  together  far 
past  the  midnight.  But  as  we  talked,  clearer  and  brighter 
became  the  faith  in  God  and  his  providence.  We  grew  to  see 
that  no  wrong,  no  violence  could  help  forward  the  truth,  that 
there  must  be  no  cowardice,  and  no  fear  of  results,  but  that  he 
alone  who  stood  firm  in  the  great  truths  of  love  and  trust  in 
God  could  always  stand.  His  soul  became  calm  and  still.  He 
said,  "Perhaps  I  shall  not  be  able  to  maintain  this  height;  to- 
morrow amid  the  strife  my  blood  will  be  boiling  again,  but  at 
least  we  have  seen  what  is  the  highest." 

We  had  left  our  home  and  gone  to  my  mother's,  when  the 
final  hour  came,  and  Burns  was  carried  through  the  streets 
escorted  by  a  guard  of  armed  men,  put  on  board  a  ship,  and 
carried  South.  Such  a  gloomy  day  was  never  seen  in  Boston. 
Many  shops  were  closed  or  draped  in  mourning.  Even  the 
anniversary  meetings  were  deserted ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  people 
were  called  up  from  all  New  England  to  witness  this  great 
wrong.  People  went  gloomily  about  the  streets,  as  if  they  had 
just  laid  their  dear  ones  in  the  grave.  The  colored  people, 
especially  the  women,  sat  upon  the  steps  of  the  court-house 
overwhelmed  with  misery.  The  blow  struck  at  our  consciences 
broke  their  hearts.  It  was  impossible  for  Seth  to  sit  at  home 
'  that  evening.  We  went  to  Kimberley's  to  see  if  music  would 
calm  him,  but  he  could  not  sing ;  we  must  talk,  and  try  to  bring 
peace  and  righteousness  to  light  out  of  this  chaos. 

The  effect  on  Seth's  health  was  serious.  He  was  restless  and 
anxious  until  his  departure  for  Europe.  A  few  weeks  were 
spent  partly  in  Boston  in  finishing  some  drawings,  and  making 
other  arrangements  for  the  journey,  and  partly  in  visiting  the 
old  home  and  family  at  Manchester. 

This  was  the  last  year  in  which  he  took  any  commissions  for 
portraits,  and  the  last  picture  which  he  entirely  finished  was  a 
beautiful  drawing  of  a  young  son  of  Mr.  J.  H.  Wolcott.  He 

8 


114 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


preferred  it  to  anything  he  had  done  that  year.  The  child  had 
that  delicate  spiritual  beauty  which  often  belongs  to  those  who 
have  mothers  in  heaven. 

During  the  winter  Seth  had  a  constant  demand  for  portraits. 
He  would  often  say  to  a  person  anxious  to  engage  him,  "  I  can- 
not do  it  now,  but  I  will  in  a  month;"  and  sometimes  punctual  to 
the  time  the  sitter  appeared,  and  he  felt  obliged  to  fulfil  a 
promise  which  he  had  considered  very  vague.  His  frequent 
illnesses  made  him  often  despondent,  and,  especially  after  working 
too  long  upon  a  picture,  he  would  despair  of  his  success,  and  per- 
haps destroy  it.  If  he  could  be  persuaded  to  lay  it  aside  and 
resume  it  after  an  interval  of  rest,  he  would  sometimes  finish  it 
with  satisfaction.  He  was  always  self-distrustful,  and  the 
criticism  of  one  whose  opinion  he  respected  would  sway  him 
too  much.  He  drew  this  winter  the  portrait  of  Mrs.  Theodore 
Parker,  and  succeeded  fully  in  rendering  the  lovely  purity  of 
her  character.  He  said,  when  drawing  her,  he  "  felt  as  if  he  had 
been  with  the  angels."  He  was  also  urged  to  draw  Mr.  Parker's 
portrait  with  a  view  to  having  an  engraving  from  it.  He  felt 
diffident  about  undertaking  it  from  the  great  force  of  character 
and  variety  of  expression  in  the  sitter's  face.  As  Mr.  Parker  was 
apt  to  fall  into  a  brown  study,  I  attended  the  sittings  to  keep 
him  in  conversation,  and  watched  the  progress  of  the  portrait.  I 
felt  that  he  had  succeeded  in  giving  the  sweetest  and  tenderest 
side  of  his  nature,  but  Mr.  Parker,  on  seeing  it,  thought  it  lacked 
strength.  Mr.  Cheney  went  again  to  work  upon  it,  with  this 
idea  in  his  mind,  and  the  result  was  not  wholly  satisfactory. 
There  is  a  want  of  unity  in  the  picture,  and  while  some  of  those 
who  knew  Mr.  Parker  best  prefer  it  to  any  other  portrait,  others 
do  not  recognize  its  truth. 

It  is  a  life-long  regret  that  Mr.  Cheney  did  not  draw  Mr. 
Emerson,  as  the  latter  desired  him  to  do.  An  engagement  was 
made  for  the  first  sitting,  when  Mrs.  Emerson  suggested  that 


HOME  LIFE. 


115 


it  would  be  better  for  Mr.  Cheney  to  come  to  Concord  in  mild 
weather,  and  draw  Mr.  Emerson  at  home.  The  plan  seemed  an 
admirable  one,  but  alas !  amid  the  pressure  of  engagements  and 
the  constant  drawbacks  of  ill-health,  the  time  never  came  when 
the  artist  felt  able  to  undertake  a  work  which  he  knew  required 
his  very  best  powers. 

Seth  took  a  warm  interest  in  the  School  of  Design  for 
Women,  which  was  in  operation  at  this  time,  and  readily 
received  the  visits  of  its  pupils,  and  gave  them  advice  and 
encouragement.  One  of  the  most  accomplished  pupils,  who  was 
appointed  an  assistant  teacher,  was  Miss  Jane  M.  Clark,  and  he 
invited  her  to  come  to  the  house  and  draw  from  casts  under  his 
direction.  Miss  Clark  was  a  young  girl  from  New  Hampshire, 
who  had  been  working  in  Boston  for  a  few  years.  Her  friends 
were  among  the  most  distinguished  anti-slavery  families,  who 
were  charmed  with  her  character  and  her  talent,  and  had  em- 
ployed her  to  make  portraits  of  Mr.  Garrison,  Mr.  Phillips,  and 
other  noted  men  of  that  circle.  She  was  as  lovely  in  person  as 
she  was  true  and  modest  in  character,  and  she  was  so  conscious 
of  her  artistic  deficiency  that  she  said  there  were  houses  in 
Boston  she  could  not  enter,  because  these  early  portraits  were  a 
perpetual  reproach  to  her.  Mr.  Cheney  admired  her  character, 
and  appreciated  her  talent  very  highly,  and  gladly  gave  her  all 
the  instruction  she  wished. 

He  never  professed  to  be  a  teacher,  but  he  had  marvellous 
power,  and  he  gave  her  new  insight  into  the  principles  of  draw- 
ing, and  a  confidence  in  her  work  wThich  she  never  had  before. 
He  stimulated  and  encouraged  his  pupils  without  flattering 
them.  They  felt  willing  to  devote  themselves  to  the  dryest  and 
severest  lessons,  and  they  became  idealized  in  his  presence.  He 
sought  first  what  was  good  in  their  work,  then  gently  and  faith- 
fully told  them  what  was  wrong,  and  helped  them  to  correct  it. 
Miss  Clark  made  rapid  progress  under  such  instruction.  When 


116 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


she  attended  the  atelier  of  Henri  Scheffer  at  Paris,  she  told  him 
that  she  wished  to  begin  at  the  beginning,  and  when  he  saw  her 
drawing  he  exclaimed  in  amazement,  "  Why,  you  know  how  to 
draw  ! " 

A  short  extract  from  Miss  Clark's  journal  will  give  a  picture 
of  his  home  at  this  time,  and  show  how  she  appreciated  the 
privileges  enjoyed  there. 

EXTRACT  FROM  JEANIE  CLARK'S  JOURNAL. 

May  30,  1854.  —  I  have  been  for  the  last  time  to  Mr.  Cheney's  to 
draw.  They  were  both  out,  so  I  wandered  through  the  pleasant  rooms, 
and  took  last  looks,  and  said  good-by  to  all  the  precious  familiar  things. 

The  dear  picture*  of  the  infant  Jesus,  with  its  mysteriously  deep 
and  beautiful  eyes,  looked  at  me  dreamily,  sorrowfully,  and  yet  with  a 
great  fulness  of  light  and  serene  faith  that  helped  me  to  go  forth  again 
into  the  world,  surer  of  another  world,  surer  of  the  deep  significance 
and  use  of  this.  The  sweet  Eosat  looked  down  with  her  innocent 
wondering  face,  as  if  she  half  knew  the  meaning  of  my  lingering  feet, 
baby  though  she  was.  The  Roman  Girl,  with  her  veiled  head  and 
dignified  carriage,  looked  not  at  me ;  and  Neddy,  with  her  half-thought- 
ful, half-coquettish  face,  cared  not  that  I  went.  The  other  pictures 
and  casts  and  even  the  furniture  said  a  kindly  "  good-by,"  and  I  left 
them  all  forever  with  a  great  sorrowful  gladness  in  my  heart  that  it 
had  been  my  privilege  to»love  them  all  so  well  as  to  shrink  thus  at 
the  parting.  It  has  been  a  rare  and  blessed  privilege  to  me,  a  some- 
thing for  my  whole  life. 

When  we  planned  to  go  to  Europe  we  felt  very  strongly  the 
advantage  a  year's  study  in  Paris  would  be  to  Miss  Clark,  and 
decided  to  ask  her  to  accompany  us,  if  money  could  be  raised  to 
pay  her  expenses.  Seth  was  very  much  interested  in  the  plan, 
and  easily  procured  the  requisite  amount  from  his  and  her 


*  The  copy  of  the  Dresden  Madonna,  by  Retzsch,  belonging  to  Mr.  Stephen 
Perkins,  then  loaned  to  John  Cheney, 
t  Rosalie  Goodman. 


HOME  LIFE. 


117 


friends.  I  had  the  great  pleasure  of  telling  her  of  this  prospect, 
and  shall  never  forget  her  look  of  surprised,  almost  alarmed 
delight.  She  had  felt  the  greatest  longing,  and  almost  a  right,  to 
go  with  us,  but  had  believed  it  impossible,  as  she  had  no  means  of 
her  own. 

One  delightful  occasion  deserves  to  be  put  on  record.  Mr.  F. 
B.  Sanborn  invited  us  to  meet  a  small  company  at  the  rooms  of 
Mr.  Moncure  D.  Conway  in  Harvard  University,  to  hear  a  paper 
from  Mr.  Emerson  on  poetry.  Mr.  Morton  had  just  received  a 
box  of  the  true  Plymouth  May-flower,  which  he  distributed 
among  us,  and  whose  fragrance  tilled  the  room.  After  the  read- 
ing Mr.  Otto  Dresel  played  upon  the  piano,  improvising  or  play- 
ing from  memory,  in  his  own  poetic  and  expressive  style,  which 
Mr.  Cheney  preferred  to  that  of  any  other  musician.  We 
walked  home  over  the  bridge,  by  the  glow  of  the  sunset  light,  in 
the  fresh  beauty  of  spring,  and  Seth  eaid,  "  What  do  we  go  to 
Europe  for  ?     We  shall  find  nothing  better  than  this." 

This  scrap  of  letter  gives  a  vivid  picture  of  his  simple  home 
feeling :  — 

TO  MRS.  CHENEY  AT  EXETER,  N.  H. 

At  Studio,  Friday  morning,  Sept.,  1853. 

Dear  Ednah,  —  The  postman  brought  your  note  this  morning, 
while  I  was  washing  the  dishes.  I  am  very  glad  you  found  Anna 
revived.    I  feared  you  would  be  too  late. 

Who  do  you  think  I  had  to  dinner  yesterday  1  Just  as  I  was 
cooking  the  chops  for  John  and  myself  the  bell  rang,  and  on  going  to 
the  door  I  found  Ward  ;  of  course  I  invited  him  to  dine.  Fortunately 
I  had  just  three  chops ;  was  not  that  providential  1  Ward  pronounced 
them  the  finest  he  ever  ate.  John  of  course  found  them  not  quite 
enough  done.  In  the  evening  went  to  Brookline  to  bid  Stephen 
Perkins  good-by ;  he  sails  on  Monday,  wished  to  be  remembered, 
hoped  to  see  us  in  Italy  next  summer. 

Ward  brings  sad  accounts  of  mother's  health,  her  cough  is  wasting 
her  away  fast ;  she  thinks  she  cannot  remain  much  longer.    I  am  glad 


118 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


I  can  go  up  now  on  her  account.  Ward  says  she  hardly  expects  to 
see  Charles  and  Eush  again;  they  will  sail  from  Liverpool  the  20th  of 
September.    We  shall  go  up  this  afternoon ;  shall  leave  the  keys  and 

silver  at  the  P  s.    John  gathered  the  peaches  this  morning,  I 

gave  them  to  Mrs.  P.  They  were  all  ripe,  and  would  have  been  lost 
while  we  are  away.    Good-by.  Ever  yours, 

Sep. 


EUKOPE  AGAIN. 


119 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 
EUROPE  AGAIN. 

TX7E  sailed  for  Liverpool  in  the  Niagara,  Aug.  2,  1854.  We 
were  a  party  of  six.  At  the  time  of  sailing  Seth  seemed 
very  unwell  and  full  of  heavy,  sad  forebodings  that  he  should 
never  see  the  old  home  again.  But  the  anxieties  of  leaving  over, 
and  once  afloat,  he  became  calm  and  cheerful,  bearing  the  tedium 
of  the  voyage  patiently,  and  helping  those  who  were  more  ill 
than  he. 

He  seemed  quite  well  and  happy  in  England,  which  he  enjoyed 
very  much.  He  liked  the  soft  climate,  the  sense  of  comfort  in 
travelling,  and  the  mellow  beauty  of  the  landscape.  The  National 
Gallery  was  full  of  interesting  memories  of  his  early  life  in 
London,  when  he  studied  there  the  first  great  pictures  he  had 
ever  seen. 

We  passed  rather  rapidly  to  Antwerp  and  up  the  Ehine,  which 
was  familiar  ground  to  him,  and  hastened  to  Veyteaux  on  the 
Lake  of  Geneva.  Here  he  enjoyed  for  two  weeks  freedom  from 
care,  and  the  glorious  scenery  of  the  lake  and  mountains.  We 
often  walked  to  the  neighboring  village  of  Montreux,  and  bought 
a  basket  of  delicious  fruit,  with  the  intention  of  taking  it  home 
to  the  family.  On  our  way  back  we  stopped  at  the  bath-house, 
and  then  climbed  to  the  little  picturesque  church,  where  we  sat 
and  rested,  and  enjoyed  the  view,  and  tasted  of  the  fruit  so 
thoroughly  that  there  was  usually  the  same  errand  to  be  done 
on  the  morrow. 

We  then  went  to  Chamouni  by  Martigny  and  the  Tete  Noir, 


120 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


and  from  thence  to  Geneva.  He  made  no  record  of  this  journey, 
but  he  found  his  wonted  refreshment  and  delight  in  nature. 
He  often  walked  up  the  hills  with  his  brother  when  the  others 
rode  on  mules.    The  ride  over  the  Jura  Mountains  in  a  carriage 

o 

was  full  of  novelty  and  interest,  and  we  reached  Paris  early  in 
October.  Seth  was  very  fond  of  Paris,  where  he  had  spent  many 
months  in  study  in  the  days  of  early  enthusiasm ;  and  all  the 
sadness  which  he  experienced  there  could  not  wholly  destroy 
his  enjoyment  of  its  beauty.  During  the  few  weeks  that  his 
sister  remained  with  him  and  while  the  weather  was  fine,  much 
of  his  time  was  given  to  seeing  the  sights  of  Paris  and  the  en- 
virons, but  he  also  engaged  a  studio  and  began  to  paint.  He 
went  frequently  to  the  Louvre,  and  especially  studied  Titian's 
portrait  of  Francis  the  First,  which  he  considered  a  masterpiece. 
He  drew  a  portrait  in  crayon  for  his  sister,  and  a  slight  sketch 
in  charcoal  of  a  very  old  man,  but  he  took  no  commissions  for 
any  work.  He  made  a  copy  of  Parmigianino's  head  of  St.  Lucia 
from  the  engraving,  as  a  study  in  color.  It  is  very  warmly 
colored,  with  a  light  crimson  robe,  rich  auburn  hair,  and  that 
peculiarly  brilliant  complexion  which  always  accompanies  it. 
That  this  style  of  color  attracted  him  is  shown  by  another  unfin- 
ished head,  a  duplicate  of  one  of  his  crayon  drawings,  which  has 
the  same  tone  of  color  and  complexion.  He  also  painted  a 
portrait  of  his  brother  John,  which  is  very  low  in  tone  and  some- 
what severe  in  character.  A  young  American  artist,  Mr.  William 
G.  Babcock,  introduced  him  to  the  works  of  Jean  Francois  Millet, 
who  was  then  just  rising  into  fame.  Before  leaving  home  Seth 
saw  his  "  Eeapers,"  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Martin  Brimmer,  and 
was  very  much  interested  in  the  naturalness  and  intense  earnest- 
ness of  this  artist.  He  made  a  faithful  copy  of  a  small  picture 
owned  by  Mr.  Babcock,  representing  a  nymph  in  the  woods. 
This  picture  is  in  Millet's  earlier  manner,  before  he  began  his 
great  humanitarian  representations  of  labor.    A  few  sketches 


EUROPE  AGAIN. 


121 


and  beginnings  of  pictures  of  Miss  Clark  and  myself,  made  in 
leisure  evenings,  and  a  beautiful  little  female  head  modelled  in 
wax  are  all  that  remain  of  his  winter's  studies. 

He  visited  the  ateliers  of  both  Henri  and  Ary  SchefFer.  He 
went  very  little  into  society,  but  occasionally  met  Mr.  Story, 
Mr.  Cranch,  Mr.  Eastman  Johnson,  and  other  American  artists. 
At  the  house  of  his  old  friend  George  P.  Healy,  he  always  found 
a  warm  welcome  and  a  simple  happy  home  life  which  gave  him 
great  satisfaction.  One  great  social  pleasure  came  from  the  fre- 
quent visits  of  his  old  friend,  M.  Dubourjal. 

He  enjoyed  greatly  the  fine  music  in  the  churches,  especially 
at  the  Madeleine  and  St.  Eoch.  But  all  these  studies  and  pleas- 
ures were  interrupted  by  illness.  In  December  he  was  suddenly 
seized  with  the  "grippe,"  and  suffered  excruciating  pain  for 
some  days.  His  recovery  was  slow,  and  when  able  to  rise  from 
his  bed  he  was  still  very  weak  and  nervous.  He  longed  for 
home,  but  when  we  talked  over  plans  of  return,  his  love  of  art 
prevailed,  and  we  decided  to  go  to  Italy  instead,  trusting  that 
the  change  of  scene  and  climate  would  benefit  him.  But  after 
passports  were  signed  and  preparations  made,  Miss  Clark,  who 
was  to  remain  in  Paris,  was  taken  ill,  and  we  could  not  leave 
her.  Her  disease  was  typhoid  fever.  She  was  attended  by  the 
celebrated  Dr.  Jahr,  with  able  consulting  physicians.  The  fever 
abated,  but  appetite  and  strength  never  returned.  Her  spirit 
wandered  sometimes  in  beautiful  fancies,  sometimes  in  distress- 
ing vagaries,  and  the  end  drew  near.  Every  kindness  was  shown 
her  by  American  friends  in  Paris ;  and  she  had  a  devoted  Eng- 
lish nurse.  Her  homesickness  passed  away,  and  she  was  happy 
in  the  presence  of  friends  about  her.  When  told  that  death  was 
near,  she  said,  "  I  am  sorry  to  leave  my  father,  but  I  shall  see  my 
mother,"  and  then  gave  directions  for  the  disposal  of  her  little 
treasures.  When  a  friend  bent  over  for  the  last  kiss,  and  her 
soft  curls  touched  her  face,  she  looked  up  and  said,  "  She  is  one 


122 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


of  the  angels,"  and  at  every  interval  of  consciousness  she  asked 
to  have  us  all  about  her,  and  at  night  she  went  to  sleep. 

This  rarely  beautiful  nature  made  a  deep  impression  of  respect 
and  love  on  all  who  knew  her.  She  was  at  once  the  most  sensitive 
and  the  most  upright  person  I  ever  knew.  Feeling  that  money 
had  been  given  her  to  cultivate  her  art,  she  carried  economy  to 
the  verge,  not  of  meanness,  for  she  had  no  tinge  of  that,  but  of 
injury  to  her  own  health  and  welfare.  In  the  half  year  that 
she  passed  with  us  she  bought  nothing  for  herself  but  a  pair  of 
shoes  and  a  pair  of  gloves,  and  would  have  lived  on  bread  and 
apples  if  we  would  have  allowed  it.  Although  it  came  sadly  too 
late  she  welcomed  the  token  of  confidence  and  appreciation  in  a 
letter  from  Mr.  S.  G.  Ward,  the  treasurer  of  the  School  of  Design, 
appointing  her  as  permanent  teacher,  and  securing  her  funds  for 
another  year  of  study.  Yet  she  seemed  one  of  those  not  fitted 
to  live  in  this  world  ;  her  body  was  very  frail,  and  her  mind  almost 
too  delicately  strung  to  bear  the  rough  winds  of  earth.  She  was 
like  a  lark  who  sings  its  heavenly  morning  melody  and  then  rises 
upward  out  of  sight. 

Seth  felt  this  parting  deeply,  and  all  the  painful  details  of 
necessary  business  in  a  strange  country  were  very  trying  to  him, 
yet  he  bore  himself  calmly  and  bravely,  and  took  all  the  labor 
and  care  he  possibly  could.  I  had  been  very  ill,  and  had  only  re- 
covered sufficiently  to  ride  out  when  Jeanie  died,  but  was  again 
prostrated  by  nervous  suffering  and  confined  to  the  bed  for  some 
days.  Dr.  Jahr  advised  our  immediately  quitting  Paris,  and 
Seth's  recollections  turned  to  Fontainebleau,  where  he  had  sought 
health  before.  We  went  thither  about  the  20th  of  March.  At 
Fontainebleau  he  visited  the  palace  and  enjoyed  the  frescos  of 
Francia,  and  we  amused  ourselves  with  feeding  the  fat  carp  in 
the  pond.  He  was  interested  to  find  his  former  lodgings  and 
his  old  landlady.  When  at  last  the  good  Mile.  Marguerite, 
bent  with  age,  recognized  him,  she  expressed  great  delight,  for 


EUROPE  AGAIN. 


123 


she  had  felt  sure  when  he  left  her  that  he  would  not  live  to 
reach  home.  She  showed  us  the  window  to  which  the  ass  used 
to  be  brought  up  for  him  to  drink  the  milk,  and  they  recalled  a 
thousand  pleasant  little  circumstances.  He  went  again  to  see 
her,  to  carry  her  some  candy  for  her  cough,  and  to'  say  good-by. 

One  day,  Mr.  Cheney  and  Mr.  Babcock  walked  through  the 
forest  about  seven  miles  to  Barbizon,  to  see  Millet  and  his 
works.  I  had  been  engaged  in  the  sad  task  of  writing  to  friends 
at  home,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  fresh  life  and  delight  with 
which  he  came  into  my  room.  In  Millet  he  found  the  artist 
who  answered  to  his  own  conceptions  of  his  sacred  calling,  — 
a  man  simple  in  his  life  and  habits  as  the  meanest  peasant,  who 
had  studied  all  that  could  be  learned  of  art,  and  who  used  his 
skill  and  genius  to  express  the  noblest  thoughts  of  the  human 
soul.  He  described  the  painter's  family,  his  Jiappy  domestic 
circle,  and  the  picturesque  little  town  in  w7hich  he  dwelt. 

The  next  day  we  rode  over  to  Barbizon  and  remained  there  ■ 
a  few  weeks.  Barbizon  had  not  then  attained  much  celebrity, 
but  several  artists  were  living  there.  Eousseau,  the  landscape 
painter,  was  Millet's  dear  friend ;  Jaques  was  making  his  beauti- 
ful etchings ;  and  William  M.  Hunt,  William  Babcock,  and  some 
other  artists,  spent  summers  there.  It  was  as  primitive  as 
any  of  the  French  villages  described  by  George  Sand.  There 
was  neither  church  nor  school-house,  bank  office  nor  railroad, 
nor  even  a  spring  carriage  in  the  town.  The  women  carried 
their  produce  to  market  on  donkeys,  and  went  to  the  forest  to 
gather  fagots.  The  houses  were  thatched  and  covered  with 
vines  and  stone-crop;  the  yards  accommodated  the  hay-stack, 
the  manure-heap,  and  the  chickens.  All  the  business  of  the 
town  was  transacted  in  the  bar-rooms  of  the  two  little  inns. 
Madame  Yannier's,  where  we  stayed,  was  a  two-story  structure, 
and  our  room  overlooked  the  yard.  As  the  dining-saloon,  although 
ornamented  with  original  works  by  the  painters,  was  cold  and 


124 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


cheerless,  we  lived  and  ate  in  our  room,  which  had  a  curtained 
alcove  for  the  bed.  Our  large  fireplace  was  filled  with  stumps 
from  the  forest,  and  instead  of  the  greasy  preparation  of  the 
cook,  we  had  our  potatoes  roasted  in  the  ashes.  Excellent  coffee, 
eggs,  chickens;  rabbits,  custards,  and  stewed  prunes  made  up  the 
rest  of  the  diet,  and  we  took  turns  in  toasting  the  black  bread 
by  the  fine  bed  of  coals. 

We  spent  the  time  till  dinner  in  the  forest,  gathering  the  early 
spring  flowers,  and  watching  the  lizards  crawl  out  from  their 
winter's  sleep. 

We  saw  but  little  of  Millet,  who  was  ill  with  a  severe  cough, 
but  we  all  went  to  his  studio  one  morning.  Dressed  in  the 
ordinary  peasant  costume,  wearing  wooden  sabots,  with  his  dark 
eyes  and  hair  and  full  beard,  his  appearance  was  very  impressive 
and  inspired  confidence  and  respect.  The  studio  was  large  and 
well  lighted.  We  saw  there  the  touching  picture  of  "Tobit 
*  watching  for  the  Eeturn  of  Young  Tobias,"  *  and  several  of  his 
scenes  from  peasant  life,  all  of  them  full  of  deep  thought  and 
feeling.  But  most  of  all  was  Seth  interested  in  the  picture,  then 
unfinished,  of  "  The  Laborer."  It  spoke  to  the  very  heart.  The 
workman  stood  alone,  leaning  upon  his  spade.  The  long  furrow 
which  he  had  dug  since  morning  told  of  his  ceaseless  toil.  He 
paused  a  moment  to  wipe  the  sweat  off  his  brow,  and  every  limb 
and  muscle  fell  into  a  position  of  utter  weariness.  The  lonely 
plain  gave  him  no  companionship,  the  cold  gray  sky  no  gleam  of 
hope.  It  filled  him  with  thoughts  of  the  first  curse  upon  labor, 
of  the  slavery  which  then  debased  our  own  country,  of  the  toiling 
sufferers  of  Europe.  The  tears  were  in  Millet's  eyes,  and  he  said 
to  Mr.  Babcock  that  he  was  deeply  touched  by  Seth's  sympathy, 
and  gratified  that  he  said  no  word  of  praise  or  spoke  of  the 
execution  of  his  pictures.     Although  very  different  in  their 


*  Now  in  the  Art  Museum. 


EUROPE  AGAIN. 


125 


work,  they  recognized  each  other  as  kindred.  Seth  said,  "  I  do 
not  care  if  I  never  see  him  again.  I  am  perfectly  satisfied  with 
him." 

Mr.  Babcock  introduced  Mr.  Cheney  to  a  young  peasant-girl 
who  was  accustomed  to  sit  to  artists  as  a  model  for  the  head. 
Adele  was  an  illegitimate  child,  the  granddaughter  of  an  old 
weaver,  whom  she  supported  by  her  work.  She  had  a  thought- 
ful German  face,  which  seemed  to  mirror  the  suffering  her  mother 
must  have  known.  She  was  shy  and  modest  as  a  hare,  and 
would  not  lift  her  eyes.  He  drew  her  in  charcoal  in  her  peasant 
costume,  and  felt  that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  give  the 
exquisite  delicacy  of  her  features.  Theodore  Parker  said  he 
"  never  drew  a  finer  stroke,"  and  Miss  Curtis  said,  "  It  is  Gretchen 
in  'Faust.' "  He  saw  the  resemblance  and  proposed  some  time 
to  paint  it. 

Although  Seth  experienced  much  happiness  at  Barbizon,  he 
was  very  far  from  well ;  he  suffered  continually  from  severe 
noises  in  the  head,,  with  deafness,  and  his  throat  and  head  were 
often  troublesome.  We  went  back  to  Paris  for  a  clay  or  two, 
and  then  started  on  a  short  tour  in  Germany,  Mr.  Babcock  still 
accompanying  us.  At  Eheims,  though  very  sad  and  suffering, 
the  beauty  of  the  Cathedral  gave  him  great  delight,  as  did  also 
that  of  Strasburg  and  its  beautiful  environs.  He  felt  better  in  a 
week  of  warm  weather  at  Munich,  and  enjoyed  exploring  the 
old  print-shops  with  Babcock.  In  the  gallery  he  specially  en- 
joyed the  Peruginos,  and  the  "Apostles"  of  Albert  Diirer.  The 
"Beggar  Boys"  of  Murillo  gave  him  hearty  enjoyment.  He 
would  stand  before  the  picture  of  the  old  grandmother  combing 
the  boy's  head,  while  he  plays  with  a  dog  and  munches  an 
apple,  and  say,  "  He  is  having  too  good  a  time." 

The  day  at  Nuremberg  was  cold  and  stormy,  and  Seth 
suffered  severely  in  his  ear,  so  that  he  could  visit  only  a 
few  of  the  principal  places.    But  he  was  deeply  moved  by 


126 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


the  works  of  Diirer,  and  counted  the  knowledge  which  lie 
gained  of  him  as  the  best  result  of  his  German  tour.  He 
afterward  bought  the  engravings  of  the  "  little  Passion,"  from 
which  he  gathered  great  comfort  and  strength.  We  hastened  on 
to  Dresden,  where  he  took  advice  of  a  physician,  who  prescribed 
rest  and  quiet.  It  was  some  days  before  he  dared  to  visit  the 
gallery,  and  then  it  was  cheerless  and  cold ;  but  the  old  spirit 
arose  when  he  saw  that  "  finest  outgush  of  Eaphael's  soul,"  the 
Madonna  di  San  Sisto.  He  said  that  "  the  angels  below  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  their  own  superior  nature  in  their  adoration 
of  the  glorious  child." 

By  Dr.  Kinzelmann's  advice  he  went  to  Loschwitz  on  the 
Elbe,  and  remained  a  fortnight,  but  he  could  not  find  the  charm 
of  Barbizon  here.  He  suffered  intense  agony  from  his  ear, 
which  was  somewhat  relieved  by  the  discharge  of  an  ulcer, 
but  he  never  had  full  relief  from  the  noise  till  the  last  hour 
of  his  life.  Dr.  Kinzelmann  advised  a  sea-voyage,  and  he 
decided  to  sail  directly  from  Bremen,  for  America.  When 
fairly  started  for  America,  he  gave  way  to  a  transport  of 
delight.  The  voyage  was  long  and  tedious,  and  he  suffered 
more  from  sea-sickness  than  usual.  He  had  not  the  habit  of 
light  reading,  and  could  not  wile  away  the  time  with  novels. 
Some  comic  German  woodcuts  proved  a  great  resource,  and  we 
had  some  fine  music  from  Miss  Elise  Hensler  and  others. 

We  arrived  in  New  York,  June  6,  and  had  a  beautiful  view 
of  Staten  Island  as  we  came  up  the  harbor,  by  sunset  light. 


LAST  JOYS  AND  SORROWS. 


127 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

LAST  JOYS  AND  SORROWS. 

TN  his  old  home,  with  the  burden  of  care  taken  off,  with  his 
brothers  and  sisters  about  him,  and  his  friend  Kimberley 
to  amuse  and  cheer  him,  amid  the  beauty  of  June,  and  with  all 
the  comforts  of  New  England  life,  I  hoped  he  would  find  rest 
and  strength,  and  left  him  for  a  short  time  to  visit  my  mother, 
but  the  accounts  I  received  of  his  health  made  me  hasten  back. 

He  remained  in  Manchester  all  summer.  He  worked  a  little, 
making  a  very  lovely  crayon  sketch  of  his  niece,  Eosalie  Goodman, 
and  beginning  a  picture  in  oil,  which  is  the  most  beautiful  thing 
he  has  left  in  color ;  while  his  portrait  of  his  brother  John  has 
something  of  the  severe  manner  of  Page,  this  has  all  the  tender- 
ness and  beauty  of  Allston's  best  works.  It  remains  to  show  what 
he  would  have  done  had  health  and  life  been  granted  him. 

He  rode  every  day  and  enjoyed  the  old  familiar  beauty,  and 
loved  to  point  out  the  picturesque  resources  of  New  England's 
scenery  and  inhabitants. 

He  talked  much  of  the  expression  of  landscape,  which  he 
thought  had  not  yet  been  fully  brought  out.  A  place  on  his 
favorite  ride  suggested  a  picture  of  death,  a  dark  sluggish  pool 
bordered  with  cypress  and  fringed  with  long  hanging  moss,  while 
a  companion  picture,  full  of  hope  and  morning,  should  represent 
life. 

He  was  much  interested  in  building  a  studio  on  the  grounds, 
and  made  various  plans  for  it,  once  suggesting  a  stone  ruin,  but 
he  ended  by  putting  up  a  very  plain  wooden  building.    A  new 


128 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


chamber  for  the  old  house  was  also  desired,  and  he  wished  to 
do  much  of  the  work  himself,  hoping  to  derive  benefit  from  the 
exercise.  His  health  did  not  improve,  he  suffered  constantly 
from  the  noise  in  the  head,  from  severe  pain  in  his  limbs, 
and  irritation  of  the  bowels.  In  August,  however,  he  began 
the  work  on  the  studio  by  the  side  of  the  little  brook,  which  is 
connected  with  all  the  fortunes  of  the  family,  and  it  was  a  great 
relief  to  his  nervous  anxiety.  On  the  8th  of  September  a  great 
joy  came  to  him  in  the  birth  of  his  daughter.  He  received  the 
gift  with  the  profoundest  gratitude.  By  his  desire  the  baby  was 
named  Margaret  Swan.  He  would  sit  and  gaze  upon  the  child 
without  speaking,  as  if  to  assure  himself  of  the.  reality  of  her 
presence,  or  as  if  he  felt  how  short  would  be  the  time  he  could 
enjoy  her. 

A  few  days  after  he  went  to  Boston  to  take  care  of  the  casts 
which  had  been  sent  from  Europe.  He  visited  his  friend  Mr. 
Gould,  and  also  Mrs.  Forbes  at  Milton.  He  was  very  unwell 
while  there,  and  returned  with  the  trouble  in  the  throat  very 
much  increased. 

He  walked  and  rode  through  the  autumn,  and  it  was  interest- 
ing to  see  how  much  beauty  he  found  in  the  brown  seed-vessels, 
which  he  gathered  into  bouquets,  and  how  much  he  saw  even  in 
barren  fields  and  cloudy  skies.  The  child  was  a  constant  source 
of  delight,  and  he  counted  himself  deeply  aggrieved  if  he  was  not 
called  to  see  her  dressed  and  undressed,  that  he  might  watch 
her  unfolding  charms. 

He  went  to  Boston  just  before  Thanksgiving,  where  he  con- 
sulted his  old  friend,  Dr.  Putnam,  who  gave  him  some  tempo- 
rary relief.  By  his  advice  he  went  to  his  sister's,  in  New  York, 
for  a  few  weeks,  but  he  did  not  gain  in  health ;  the  constant 
inclination  to  clear  his  throat,  the  shortness  of  breath,  the 
general  weakness,  became  very  alarming. 

He  returned  on  Christmas-day,  and  at  New  Year's  we  took 


LAST  JOYS  AND  SORROWS. 


129 


rooms  at  the  United  States  Hotel.  We  were  very  pleasantly 
situated  here;  his  friends,  the  Kimberleys,  were  in  the  house, 
and  we  had  our  meals  in  private.  He  enjoyed  the  baby  fully, 
and  tried  to  draw  her  picture,  but  strength  was  wanting.  He 
walked  daily,  and  occasionally  rode  out  to  Koxbury  in  an 
omnibus  for  the  sake  of  the  air.  When  his  brothers  John  and 
Ward  came  to  Boston  in  February,  they  found  him  no  better, 
and  urged  his  return  to  Manchester.  He  seemed  to  revive  a 
little  by  the  change,  and  was  very  glad  to  be  at  home.  "  Now, 
I  feel  that  I  could  either  live  or  die,  here."  He  became  very 
much  interested  in  politics.  He  had  never  voted  but  once, 
from  a  youthful  enthusiasm  for  Gen.  Jackson,  but  now  that 
politics  wore  a  moral  aspect,  he  was  very  much  interested  in 
the  Kansas  question,  and  much  pleased  at  the  idea  of  Fre- 
mont's nomination  for  the  Presidency.  He  wanted  a  young 
growing  man  in  the  office.  He  attempted  a  little  carpentering 
for  amusement,  but  did  not  draw  or  paint.  Mr.  Kimberley 
began  a  bust,  and  he  was  much  interested  in  his  progress. 
"  It  will  be  the  last,"  he  said.  It  delighted  him  when  the  baby 
began  to  recognize  him,  and  he  was  very  proud  when  she  cried 
after  him.  He  would  say  in  the  morning,  "  We  have  another 
day  with  her."  In  the  warm  spring  days  he  would  sit  on  the 
piazza  with  the  child  in  his  lap,  and  feed  the  little  "  chipping 
birds"  who  came  hopping  about.  The  child's  nurse  at  that  time 
was  an  extremely  pretty  young  girl,  and  the  two  together  made 
a  succession  of  pictures,  which  gave  him  great  pleasure.  One 
night  the  nurse  could  not  get  her  to  sleep,  and  he  told  her  to 
bring  the  child  to  him.  She  nestled  in  his  arms  at  once,  and 
sobbed  herself  to  sleep,  and  I  found  him  looking  at  her  with 
his  eyes  full  of  tears. 

He  said,  "  When  I  was  so  ill  before,  I  felt  that  I  could  not 
die,  but  now  that  I  have  every  joy  I  could  ask  for  in  life,  I  feel 
that  I  can  leave  it." 

9 


130 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


When  Charles  Sumner  made  the  great  speech  in  Congress,  to 
which  Brooks  replied  by  his  brutal  assault,  Seth  was  very  much 
excited.  He  would  talk  of  it  the  first  thing  in  the  morning, 
and  he  discussed  the  whole  matter  in  every  light.  He  was 
impatient  for  the  newspapers,  and  when  the  Transcript  brought 
a  report  of  Emerson's  speech,  he  felt  with  great  delight  that  the 
right  word  had  got  spoken,  and  he  cut  out  the  slip  and  carried 
it  in  his  pocket.  It  seemed  to  give  him  rest,  to  show  how  even 
this  horrible  outrage  could  be  nobly  borne. 

One  day,  the  last  of  June,  his  brother  Eush  by  a  sudden 
impulse,  asked  him  to  go  up  and  dine  with  him.  It  was  the 
last  meal  he  took  away  from  home.  He  felt  very  near  to  this 
brother,  and  spoke  of  the  beautiful  spiritual  communion  he  had 
with  him. 

Soon  after  he  suffered  severely  from  cramps,  first  in  the  leg 
and  afterwards  in  the  chest,  so  that  at  one  time  he  could  not  lie 
down  for  many  hours.  Sometimes  his  wonderful  fortitude  gave 
way,  and  he  groaned  aloud,  but  his  patience  and  love  never 
failed.  He  never  became  irritable,  but  was  constantly  grateful 
for  every  attention. 

He  was  only  able  now  to  sit  in  his  large  chair  by  the  door  and 
look  out  upon  the  green  earth,  and  to  have  the  baby  in  his  lap 
with  a  green  twig  to  "  brush  the  flies  off  papa." 

In  Paris  he  had  bought  a  picture  by  William  M.  Hunt,  a  portrait 
of  a  little  French  girl.  It  was  sent  home  at  this  time,  and  he 
enjoyed  it  very  much.  He  often  said,  "  I  am  glad  we  have  got 
it."  Once  he  said,  "  I  don't  know  but  it  does  me  harm,  it  keeps 
me  thinking  so  about  art."  One  very  hot  day  he  suffered  from 
extreme  pain,  and  at  evening  he  asked  me  to  read  to  him 
Bryant's  poem  "  The  Evening  Wind."  As  I  did  so  the  pain 
passed  away,  the  heat  slackened,  and  he  experienced  deep  peace- 
ful enjoyment.  He  could  bear  but  little  reading,  but  enjoyed 
some  passages  from  E^nelon,  of  which  he  said,  u  I  think  they  do 
me  good." 


LAST  JOYS  AND  SORROWS. 


131 


One  day  his  sister  began  speaking  about  the  engravings  he 
had  made  from  Allston.  This  led  to  a  conversation  about 
Allston,  and  Seth's  own  work,  which  excited  and  exhausted  him 
so  much  that  he  sent  his  sister  away.  I  found  him  with  the 
tears  flowing  from  his  eyes.  He  said,  "  When  I  think  of  those 
men,  and  that  I  have  seen  and  known  one  of  them;  when  I  feel 
what  a  glorious  thing  art  is  —  "  He  could  not  finish  his  sen- 
tence. It  was  almost  his  last  word  on  art.  I  once  said  to  him, 
"  You  speak  extravagantly  about  other  things,  saying  '  It  is  the 
best  you  ever  saw  in  your  life/  etc.,  but  in  regard  to  art  a  few 
words  as,  '  It  is  very  well '  are  a  great  deal  from  you.  Why  is 
it  ? "   ",  Is  it  so  ? "  he  said ;  "  it  must  be  because  art  is  so  sacred." 

Early  in  September  he  was  relieved  from  pain,  and  slightly 
braced  by  cooler  airs,  and  a  gleam  of  hope  came,  but  it  soon 
passed  away.  He  felt  that  the  change  was  surely  coming,  and 
one  morning  he  woke  with  the  dark  shadow  of  the  valley  upon 
him,  and  could  not  see  the  child  he  must  leave.  But  in 
that  hour  the  bitterness  of  death  passed,  and  he  then  spoke  of 
his  brother  Wells's  influence  on  his  daughter,  and  said, "  It  makes 
me  sure  that  I  shall  be  as  near  to  her  as  I  could  be  in  life." 
His  desire  to  go  out  of  doors  this  morning  was  so  great  that  he 
was  wrapped  up  and  placed  in  his  large  chair,  and  his  brothers 
lifted  it  out  of  the  door,  and  set  it  down  in  the  path.  It  was  a 
glorious  September  day,  still  and  warm,  and  the  sun  shone 
gently  on  the  dear  familiar  scene,  through  the  leaves  just 
touched  with  yellow.  He  looked  up  and  down  the  valley,  at 
Ward  who  was  beside  him,  then  turned  to  look  for  me  and 
said,  "  I  could  die  now."  At  night  he  said,  "  Though  this  morn- 
ing began  so  terribly  it  has  been  a  very  happy  day." 

He  was  thus  taken  out  two  days  more.  Sunday  morning,  as 
I  recognized  a  symptom  which  seemed  to  me  fatal,  his  eye  met 
mine,  and  a  look  of  rapture  passed  over  his  face.  "  What  makes 
me  so  glad  ? "  he  said ;  "  now  I  know  there  is  no  doubt."  Doubt 


132 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


had  always  been  his  great  enemy.  "  He  who  doubts  is  damned," 
he  often  said ;  "  there  is  no  need  of  any  future  punishment." 
John  soon  after  brought  him  a  piece  of  a  very  fine  water-melon. 
He  tasted  it  and  said,  "  It  is  the  last !  it  is  good  enough  to  be 
the  last."  He  asked  me  to  eat  with  him,  and  his  child  must 
taste  it  too.  He  had  no  delirium,  the  only  wavering  of  the 
brain  was  a  sense  of  double  consciousness.  He  would  say  when 
drinking,  "  It  seems  as  if  this  other  one  got  everything." 

On  the  8th  of  September  his  brother  Rush's  wife  gave  birth 
to  a  little  daughter ;  he  was  interested  in  the  event,  remembered 
that  it  was  his  own  baby's  birthday,  and  said  she  must  have  his 
silver  cup.  The  next  day  he  craved  some  cider,  and  it  excited 
him  so  much  that  he  felt  as  if  it  mioht  save  him.  He  said,  "  I 
am  going  to  take  just  as  much  as  I  want,  it  is  a  crisis  in  my 
life."  Some  fine  peaches  were  brought  him ;  he  enjoyed  their 
beauty,  but  could  not  taste  them.  "You  eat  them,"  he  said. 
Many  were  around  him  and  he  was  much  excited.  "  Oh,  don't 
send  anybody  away!"  he  said.  He  had  a  severe  fainting-fit  in 
the  afternoon.  Ward  watched  with  us  that  night.  The  old 
noise  in  the  ear  left  him  no  quiet.  At  last  he  said,  "  Keep  very 
quiet,  —  it  is  all  still,  I  can  hear  now."  Fatal  signs  appeared, 
but  he  fell  into  a  quiet  sleep.  John  took  Ward's  place.  He 
woke  and  said,  "  I  am  cold."  I  threw  a  blanket  over  him  and 
gave  him  a  spoonful  of  warm  tea.  "  Wait !  "  he  said.  It  was 
his  last  word, —  a  significant  one.  The  nurse  brought  the  baby  in  ; 
he  recognized  her,  and  also  his  dear  Aunt  Emily.  He  seemed 
to  try  to  speak,  but  could  not.  They  said,  "  He  is  gone,"  but  I 
ivaitecl ;  he  opened  those  glorious  eyes,  and  the  soul  that  never 
dies  looked  out  of  them  at  us  once  more. 

In  one  of  his  last  days  he  said,  a  I  think  my  sins  are  all  for- 
given, for  they  do  not  trouble  me  now."  He  also  said,  "  I  do 
not  feel  a  particle  of  hate  toward  any  human  being." 

Wednesday,  Sept.  10,  1856. 


LAST  JOYS  AND  SORROWS. 


133 


Seth  had  always  disliked  much  funeral  ceremony,  and  we 
would  have  wished  to  lay  the  worn-out  body  quietly  in  the 
earth,  but  the  thought  of  the  offence  it  might  give  to  friends 
decided  us  against  it.  We  telegraphed  to  ask  Theodore  Parker 
if  he  would  come.  The  answer  was  in  one  word,  "Certainly." 
The  service  was  delayed  two  days  that  his  brother  Ralph 
might  be  sent  for  from  the  West.  But  on  Thursday  it  be- 
came evident  that  the  burial  ought  not  to  be  delayed,  and  at 
eventide  his  brothers  bore  him  to  the  old  burial-ground,  where 
he  had  often  looked  to  his  resting-place,  under  the,  old  oak- 
tree.  Only  the  nearest  relations  went.  The  moonlight  was 
veiled  by  soft  mists,  and  nature  was  all  in  harmony  with  his 
peaceful  euthanasy. 

The  next  day  a  funeral  service*  was  held  at  the  old  house.  A 
few  friends  came  from  New  York  and  Boston,  and  Mr.  Parker 
made  an  address.  The  village  choir  sang  the  hymn,  "  There  is  a 
balm  for  souls  distressed." 

Mr.  Parker  said,  "  If  I  did  not  believe  in  the  two  great 
truths  of  religion,  the  goodness  of  God  and  the  faith  in  im- 
mortality, I  should  not  dare  to  come  here  to-day  to  stand  on 
the  grave  of  so  many  buried  hopes,  and  to  look  into  your 
sorrowful  faces."  He  spoke  of  Seth's  genius,  of  his  love,  of  his 
purity,  and  of  his  soul,  to  which  "  religion  was  as  native  as  the 
air." 

Mr.  Cheney  left  no  will,  as  his  property  would  legally  go  to 
his  wife  and  child,  as  he  would  have  wished.  He  made  some 
requests  in  regard  to  his  pictures,  which  were  fulfilled  as  nearly 
as  possible. 

*  This  service,  apart  from  the  material  burial,  has  been  perpetuated  in  the 
family,  —  only  that  it  has  since  taken  place  before,  instead  of  after  the  actual 
interment,  the  family  retaining  the  remains  as  long  as  they  think  best,  and  then 
going  quietly  by  themselves  to  the  cemetery.  It  enables  all  friends  and  relations 
to  pay  honor  to  the  deceased,  and  to  gather  consolation  and  strength  from  a 
religious  service,  without  the  painful  ceremonies  of  a  funeral  procession. 


134 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


CHAPTER  X. 
ESTIMATE  OF  HIS  CHARACTER  AND  WORKS. 

rjlO  those  who  did  not  know  Seth  Cheney,  it  is  impossible  to 
give  a  full  idea  of  the  traits  which  made  him  so  inestimably 
precious  and  dear  to  all  who  knew  him  well.  Such  hold  him 
as  one  of  those  rare  natures  which  forever  make  life  rich  and 
beautiful  to  us,  and  immortality  a  fact.  Exquisitely  sensitive 
in  his  nervous  organization,  like  a  musical  instrument  he  thrilled 
to  every  touch,  and  though  often  suffering  keenly,  he  was  quite 
as  capable  of  a  happiness  which  radiated  like  sunshine  upon 
those  who  breathed  his  atmosphere.  Life  was  no  smooth,  un- 
ruffled sea  for  him ;  it  was  swept  with  stormy  gusts  of  will  and 
passion,  but  they  were  always  airs  from  heaven  which  purified. 
If  led  to  any  expression  of  excitement,  however  righteous,  he 
suffered  for  days  until  the  serenity  of  his  soul  was  restored. 
He  had  great  self-control,  often  hiding  intense  feeling  by  an 
almost  unnatural  calmness,  yet  he  was  free  and  spontaneous 
and  sympathetic,  —  a  deep  perennial  spring  which  seemed  to 
gush  forth  freely  for  all  to  partake  of,  yet  which  could  never  be 
exhausted  and  never  revealed  its  hidden  source. 

He  could  not  live  in  petty  relations ;  everything  had  infinite 
spiritual  meaning  to  him.  Yet  he  was  no  ascetic,  but  full  of 
interest  in  life,  and  nature,  and  practical  every-day  work.  Eating 
was  a  delicate,  refined  pleasure ;  his  sense  was  so  keen  that  the 
natural  flavor  of  the  simplest  food,  as  rice,  grains,  fruit,  gave  him 
exquisite  enjoyment.    He  liked  to  cook  a  beefsteak  for  himself 


ESTIMATE  OF  HIS  CHARACTER  AND  WORKS.  135 

and  some  friend,  and  as  he  did  so,  to  tell  how  the  priests  ate  the 
meat  they  had  first  sacrificed  to  the  gods.  He  loved  mechanical 
work,  and  was  skilful  in  it,  always  meeting  the  want  of  the 
moment  with  some  ingenious  contrivance. 

He  was  entirely  free  from  conventionalism  or  affectation. 
Among  the  rich  and  cultivated  his  simplicity  was  welcome  and 
fit ;  the  poor  and  lowly  never  felt  that  he  condescended  to  them, 
only  that  he  sympathized  with  and  blessed  them.  Loving  to 
listen  and  listening  sympathetically,  he  was  unconscious  of  his 
power  in  conversation,  yet  he  seemed  to  illumine  every  subject 
he  touched  upon ;  in  modestly  seeking  information  he  imparted 
his  own  insight.  His  love  of  children  was  fully  returned  by 
them.  Even  in  a  strange  country  children  have  crept  to  his 
side  and  taken  his  hand  in  the  streets,  or  lain  down  to  sleep  by 
his  chair.    Many  thought  of  him  as 

14  Too  bright  and  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food." 

A  little  girl,  on  hearing  that  he  was  to  be  married,  said,  "  Was 
Shakespeare  married  ? "  and,  touching  his  soft  beard,  she  said, 
"  What  pretty  feathers ! "  But  nothing  pained  him  like  ex- 
aggerated praise,  which  only  wakened  the  more  his  feeling  of 
self-distrust ;  sometimes,  when  it  was  fulsome,  he  replied  with 
sarcasm.  "  Send  us  another  genius  like  yourself,"  said  a  lady 
who  had  flattered  him  ad  nauseam,  as  he  was  leaving  a  watering- 
place.  "  If  I  can  catch  one,"  he  replied,  laughing.  With  all 
this  keen  sensibility  he  was  very  brave  both  in  bearing  physical 
and  mental  pain,  and  in  doing  whatever  was  required  of  him. 
Mr.  Morse  says  "  he  was  a  man  of  perfect  courage."  This  was 
shown  morally  as  well  as  physically.  In  relation  as  he  was 
with  many  who  thought  so  differently,  he  never  shrank  from 
avowing  his  sympathy  with  reforms,  with  anti-slavery,  with 
liberal  theology,  and  with  woman  suffrage.  He  was  not  dog- 
matic, but  was  always  seeking  new  light,  and  on  some  questions, 


♦ 


136  MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 

such  as  the  best  means  of  checking  intemperance,  he  had  not 
decided  opinions,  but  listened  with  interest  to  everything 
earnestly  said  on  the  subject,  and  so  was  often  counted  as  en- 
dorsing what  he  only  did  not  contradict. 

His  purity  of  character  spoke  in  everything  he  said  or  did ; 
he  was  true  to  the  knightly  vow  of  chastity  which  he  and  his 
friend  pledged  to  each  other  in  youth. 

All  these  qualities  appeared  in  his  art,  which  was  the  expres- 
sion of  his  own  soul.  To  him  art  was  neither  a  trade  nor  an 
amusement,  but  a  sacred  vocation.  He  always  said,  "  Art  is  for 
expression,"  and,  keenly  sensitive  as  he  was  to  beauty,  he  did 
not  feel  that  to  be  the  only  object  in  art.  He  said  to  Gould  in 
his  last  illness,  *  This  is  one  world,  and  art  is  another." 

His  great  power  was  in  the  expression  of  character  in  indi- 
vidual heads.  He  never  attempted  historical  or  genre  painting, 
and  only  rarely  grouped  two  or  more  heads  together.  Sculpture 
attracted  him,  and  some  of  his  friends  thought  his  genius  pointed 
strongly  that  way ;  but  the  only  original  works  remaining  are  a 
medallion  likeness  of  Mr.  A.  Bronson  Alcott,  life-size,  a  bust 
of  Miss  Helen  P.  Littlehale,  left  unfinished  and  cast  after  his 
death,  a  small  female  head  in  wax,  and  a  bas-relief  of  his 
brother  John.  These  show  the  same  qualities  and  power  as  his 
drawings ;  the  exquisite  modelling  of  the  features  in  the  bust 
reminds  one  of  the  Greek,  and  the  small  head  is  graceful  as 
Eaphael.  His  studies  in  modelling  were  of  great  service  in  his 
drawing.  Landscape-drawing  was.  a  recreation  in  which  his  fine 
feeling  of  light  and  shadow  had  full  play.  . 

He  loved  color,  but  he  has  left  very  few  paintings.  In  his 
last  visit  to  Europe,  however,  he  made  it  a  special  study,  and 
a  copy  from  Millet,  a  study  in  color  made  from  Domenichino's 
"  St.  Lucia,"  and  the  unfinished  portrait  of  Eosalie  show  how  pure 
and  delicate  was  his  feeling.  As  another  artist  said,  "  The  man 
who  did  those  could  have  done  anything. 


ESTIMATE  OF  HIS  CHARACTER  AND  WORKS. 


137 


But  he  is  best  known  by  his  portrait  heads  drawn  in  crayon, 
which  form  by  far  the  greater  part  of  his  work,  and  which  are 
unsurpassed  by  any  others  in  this  style.  "  You  draw  in  crayon, 
like  Cheney,"  said  a  lady  to  Kowse.  "  I  draw  in  crayon,  but  not 
like  Cheney,"  he  replied ;  "  nobody  draws  like  Cheney." 

He  worked  in  Boston  during  the  period  of  Transcendentalism 
and  his  portraits  of  the  men  and  women  of  that  day  preserve  for 
us  the  spirit  of  that  inspired  epoch  when  liberality  of  thought 
and  enthusiasm  for  culture  were  added  to  that  moral  intensity 
which  animated  reforms.  Emerson,  Hawthorne,  and  W.  H. 
Channing  are  on  the  list  of  his  commissions,  but  ill-health  pre- 
vented him  from  fulfilling  them.  It  has  often  been  said  that  he 
refused  to  draw  Daniel  Webster  because  of  his  moral  character. 
I  do  not  think  this  is  true.  He  had  engaged  to  give  him  a 
sitting,  but  circumstances  prevented  the  fulfilment  of  the 
engagement,  and  he  rejoiced,  because  he  shrank  from  the  effort 
to  render  a  character  so  oppressively  powerful  and  out  of  his 
special  range  of  sympathies.  But  he  was  not  apt  to  assume  the 
post  of  censor,  and  while  deeply  regretting  Mr.  Webster's  course 
in  his  later  years,  he  fully  appreciated  his  genius  and  felt  his 
death  keenly. 

He  loved  old  age  and  delighted^to  portray  it.  His  pictures 
of  his  mother,  his  two  aunts,  and  his  uncle  are  among  his  most 
admirable  heads.  Of  his  uncle  he  said  "  that  he  had  one  money 
eye  and  one  benevolent  one,"  and  he  would  often  show  the  dif- 
ference by  covering  one  or  the  other.  His  intuitive  insight  into 
character  enabled  him  to  represent  the  real  depth  and  permanent 
quality  of  the  nature,  so  that  his  portraits  of  children  continue 
to  resemble  them  in  full  maturity.  And  no  artist  ever  more 
truly  idealized  his  portraits,  always  giving  the  noblest  and  best 
expression.  One  of  his  friends  criticised  the  portrait  of  a  young 
relative  as  too  exalted.  "  She  is  not  capable  of  that."  "  She  is," 
the  artist  asserted.     Soon  after,  her  relative  saw  her  under 


138 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


emotion  which  called  out  all  her  best  feelings,  and  there  was  the 
expression  that  Cheney  had  given  her.  Of  one  lady  he  said,  "  It  is 
impossible  to  make  a  portrait  of  her ;  she  does  not  put  her  charac- 
ter into  her  face."  Equally  beautiful  are  his  portraits  of  children  ; 
perhaps  the  rarest  of  all  the  Eosalie,  his  beautiful  niece  of  two 
years  old.  More  than  one  has  said  that  among  all  the  beautiful 
babes  in  the  galleries  of  Europe  there  is  none  like  this ;  as  an- 
other artist  said,  "  This  is  American,  it  is  intellectual  innocence." 
Every  mother's  heart  is  touched  as  she  looks  on  it,  and  thinks  it 
is  like  the  child  who  is  an  angel  in  heaven.  Gould  says,  "  I 
have  searched  and  missed  in  all  the  galleries  of  Europe  a  face 
of  more  ethereal  beauty  than  Seth's  Eosalie."  The  only  sitters 
he  did  not  like  were  cold,  inexpressive,  regular  beauties.  To  a 
handsome  lady  of  middle  age  he  once  impatiently  said,  "  I  can't 
draw  you ;  you  have  neither  the  wrinkles  of  age  nor  the  beauty 
of  youth."  Another  lady  wished  him  to  draw  her  aunt,  saying, 
"  I  know  she  is  very  homely,  but  cannot  you  draw  her  a  little 
lightly,  tenderly  ? "  He  succeeded  fully  in  giving  her  the  aunt 
she  loved  in  spite  of  the  homeliness. 

He  was  fond  of  books  rather  than  a  voluminous  reader.  He 
often  regretted  that  he  could  not  relieve  the  tension  of  his  brain 
by  light  reading,  but  he  seldom  cared  for  a  novel  unless  some- 
thing as  full  of  thought  as  "  Consuelo  "  or  "  Wilhelm  Meister." 
Milton  was  his  travelling  companion,  and  crossed  the  ocean  with 
him  every  time.  He  was  very  fond  of  Wordsworth,  and  the 
"  Ode  to  Duty  "  was  his  favorite  poem.  But  the  Italian  poets 
were  even  more  to  him  than  the  English,  especially  Dante  and 
Michael  Angelo.  He  said  the  sonnets  were  as  great  as  the 
Sistine  Chapel. 

Quaint  old  books  like  Feltham's  "Eesolves"  and  Browne's 
"  Eeligio  Medici "  were  frequently  in  his  hands,  and  Emerson's 
writings,  especially  "  Nature,"  were  his  constant  delight.  Though 
he  passed  many  hours  of  seeming  inaction,  his  mind  was  always 


ESTIMATE  OF  HIS  CHARACTER  AND  WORKS. 


139 


busy,  always  thinking  of  his  work.  "I  never  see  two  sticks 
lying  together,"  he  said,  "  but  I  am  considering  what  angle  they 
make  and  what  proportion  they  bear  to  each  other."  This  sense 
of  relation  and  proportion  was  always  in  his  mind ;  "  The  head 
cannot  be  right  if  the  background  is  wrong,"  he  said. 

His  taste  in  art  was  wide  and  catholic,  yet  discriminating. 

Michel  Angelo  stood  first,  and  far  above  all  others.  He  never 
spoke  of  him  without  profound  reverence,  but  loved  to  tell 
anecdotes  of  him,  of  his  methods  of  work,  and  of  his  attachment 
to  his  old  servant.    He  especially  admired  the  "  Christ." 

Of  Eaphael  he  was  also  very  fond,  and  his  own  work  has  been 
oftener  compared  to  Eaphael's  than  to  any  other.  He  was 
much  offended  by  Buskin's  flippant  talk  about  "the  fall  of 
Raphael." 

He  was  very  fond  of  Correggio.  Having  been  detained  at 
Parma  by  his  friend  Gray's  illness,  he  studied  him  faithfully,  and 
appreciated  the  beauty  of  his  light  and  shadow,  and  the  sunny 
joyous  beauty  and  high  religious  inspiration  of  his  pictures. 

Claude  was  a  great  favorite.  Yet,  idealist  as  he  was  in  the 
fullest  and  best  sense  of  the  term,  he  fully  appreciated  the  breadth, 
truth,  and  humor  of  the  Dutch  School,  and  the  power  of  Eem- 
brandt.  So,  too,  of  Velasquez  and  Murillo,  whose  best  works  in 
Spain  he  never  saw.  He  reverenced  Albert  Diirer  very  highly, 
and  during  his  last  visit  to  Germany  found  great  strength  and 
comfort  in  his  pictures. 

Of  contemporary*  European  artists,  two  moved  him  very 
deeply,  —  David  Scott,  whom  he  knew  by  his  "  Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress" and  "Monograms  of  Man"  as  well  as  by  his  Life  and 
Poems ;  and  Jean  Francois  Millet,  of  whom  I  have  spoken  else- 
where. The  noble  religious  strength  of  Millet  was  entirely 
satisfactory  to  him.  Allston  was  very  dear  to  him  both  as  an 
artist  and  as  a  friend,  and  he  always  classed  him  among  the 
immortals. 


140 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


He  was  gentle  in  his  criticisms  of  other  artists,  and  utterly 
free  from  all  jealousy,  giving  lessons  and  sympathy  and  encour- 
agement freely.  But  he  would  not  lower  his  standard  of  art, 
for  he  felt  that  was  one  of  our  greatest  dangers*  "Nothing 
discourages  me  so  much,"  he  said,  "  as  the  ease  with  which  people 
are  satisfied."  He  was  anxious  to  have  a  collection  of  good 
statues  in  Boston,  and,  in  connection  with  Mr.  James  Bussell 
Lowell,  started  a  project  for  this  purpose,  and  made  a  list  of  the 
casts  for  it,  but,  owing  to  financial  embarrassments,  nothing  was 
done  at  that  time.  He  was  very  fond  of  music,  and  although  he 
never  mastered  any  instrument,  he  loved  to  play  chords  on  the 
organ  or  piano,  which  he  did  with  great  expression.  He  felt  that 
the  influence  of  music  on  character  was  not  sufficiently  estimated. 
Of  a  young  lady  he  said  once,  "  She  has  not  gained,  and  I  think 
it  is  owing  to  the  influence  of  the  music  she  has  been  hearing." 
Mozart  and  Beethoven  were  his  favorite  masters,  and  he  de- 
lighted also  in  the  old  church  music,  especially  Pergolesi's  Stabat 
Mater.  He  loved  to  have  music  when  he  was  working,  and  his 
friend  Kimberley  added  much  to  his  happiness  in  this  way. 

Kimberley  says :  — 

' 'Art  with  him  was  intuitive;  his  studio  everywhere  and  every 
when.  Perhaps  De  la  Boche  and  Camuccini  might  give  him  some  rules, 
hut  the  divine  power  we  see  in  his  pictures  as  also  in  his  conversation 
was  in  himself;  if  he  touched  a  leaf  or  a  twig,  he  beautified  it.  .  .  . 
He  seemed  to  me  to  have  wings  that  I  could  rest  under.*' 

One  friend  says  of  his  eyes,  "  I  have  looked  up  into  their 
deeps  as  into  a  kind  of  heaven."  Another  said,  "  Other  people 
seem  to  me  beautiful  because  they  are  good,  but  he  seems  to  me 
good  because  he  is  so  beautiful." 

Mr.  Gould  says  :  — 

"  His  mind  was  synthetic,  intuitive,  imaginative,  deductive ;  began 
with  spiritual  truths,  took  in  harmonies,  was  impatient  of  processes, 


*  He  would  not  buy  a  friend's  pictures  if  they  were  not  faithful  in  drawing. 


ESTIMATE  OF  HIS  CHARACTER  AND  WORKS. 


141 


seldom  needed  them  to  arrive  at  his  object.  Saw  truth  in  vision ; 
with  all,  there  was  a  certain  impermanence  in  his  mental  impressions, 
by  fault  of  literary  training,  which  induced  him  to  think  the  same 
problem  over  and  over  again,  and  this  circular  movement  sometimes 
banished  repose."  And  again,  "Ketzsch's  picture  of  the  youth  with 
Pegasus  is  a  true  portrait  of  Seth." 

Speaking  of  the  strict  Puritan  influence  of  Connecticut,  Mr. 
Gould  says :. — 

"  Beloved  without  measure  by  man  and  woman  as  he  was,  only  this 
central  rectitude,  so  fortified,  could  have  kept  him  from  error,  and  ad- 
justed the  relations  of  his  blameless  and  beneficent  life." 

Of  his  instruction  in  his  art  he  says  :  — 

"  It  was  illuminated  by  pithy  apothegms  of  art,  which  he  would 
utter  in  his  brief,  sententious  way  :  '  Look  to  the  general  effect.  What 
then !  Then  it  is  done.  Don't  rivet  your  mind  to  your  w$rk ;  care 
less  for  it  and  you  will  succeed.' 

"  He  was  no  ascetic,  but  aesthetic,  sensuous,  humane,  delighting  in 
color  with  the  true  temper  of  an  artist  who  makes  '  a  bridal  of  the 
earth  and  sky.'  He  liked  artists,  —  Jo  Ames,  Staigg,Kimberley,  Gray, 
Greenough,  all  of  them  —  and  tried  to  promote  good-fellowship. 

"  His  speech  was  brief,  but  his  conversation  complete,  made  out  by 
looks,  tones,  manners,  presence." 

EXTRACT  FROM  A  LETTER  WRITTEN  IN  1852,  BY  S.  W.  CHENEY. 

I  cannot  let'  the  Sunday  pass,  the  good  Sunday,  that  comes  so  punc- 
tually every  week,  and  sits  so  quietly  among  the  seven  days,  and  then 
retires  so  serenely  and  leaves  the  rest  of  the  days  to  hobble  on  and 
fret  themselves  for  a  whole  week.  The  thought  of  you  is  to  me  like 
a  serene  Sabbath,  and  comes  to  me  as  a  rest  in  a  weary  life.  The 
thought  —  how  much  there  is  in  the  thought  of  love  —  the  love  that 
suggests  the  "Infinite  love,"  what  repose  there  is  in  that!  Whether 
the  object  is  present  or  absent,  that  remains  and  is  immortal. 

Paris,  64  Rue  de  la  Rochefoucauld,  Oct.  5,  1878. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Cheney,  —  It  was  a  very  great  pleasure  to  have 
seen  yourself  and  daughter,  who  is  so  like  her  late  gifted  father  and 


142 


MEMOIR  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


my  early  friend,  of  whose  memory  I  have  the  most  charming  remem- 
brances both  as  a  man  and  an  artist.  I  have  always  said  and  strongly 
felt  that  no  one  has  treated  the  head  of  woman  so  nobly  in  my  time, 
and  indeed  even  amongst  the  drawings  of  the  old  masters  the  only  one 
that  occurs  to  me  to  mention  in  comparison  is  that  of  our  Lord  by 
Leonardo  da  Vinci.  About  Cheney's  heads  there  was  an  exquisite 
charm  entirely  and  all  his  own  ;  this  was  also  the  case  with  him  as  a 
man  whose  sympathetic  nature  and  pure  simplicity  of  life  made  all 
love  him  who  had  the  good  fortune  to  really  know  him. 

In  the  winter  of  1832  I  first  met  the  brothers  John  and  Seth 
Cheney.  I  was  presented  to  them  by  my  ever  since  very  dear  friend 
John  C.  Crossman,  the  clever  artist.  I  well  remember  some  beautiful 
works  by  these  three  friends ;  one  head  by  Seth  particularly  touched 
me.  We  next  saw  each  other  in  the  summer  of  1834,  studying  in  the 
Louvre.  I  made  some  copies,  and  have  often  thought  since  how  much 
more  wisely  he  passed  his  time  by  working  more  with  his  head  than 
with  his  brush.  We  again  met  in  London  in  1838,  on  his  return  from 
Italy.  Eight  years  after,  in  Boston,  I  saw  with  delight  his  admirable 
works,  and  renewed  my  relations  with  him,  his  brother  John,  and  my 
still  earlier  friend  Crossman. 

Geo.  P.  A.  Healy. 

Mr.  Healy  once  said,  "  No  man  living  understands  the  play 
of  light  and  shadow  as  he  does." 

A  friend  one  day  found  him  reading  a  French  Testament, 
"  because,"  he  explained,  "  the  task  set  me  to  read  it  in  English 
in  my  youth  made  it  hateful,  and  obscured  the  meaning.  We 
shall  be  Christians  by  and  by,  when  we  come  to  know  the 
Author  truly." 

"  He  was  a  man,  take  him  for  all  in  all, 
I  shall  not  look  upon  his  like  again." 


PORTRAITS  ANL  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


143 


NOTE. 

PORTRAITS  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

The  earliest  portrait  of  Mr.  Cheney  is  a  miniature  painted  by 
his  friend  Dubourjal,  in  1834.  It  is  very  harmonious  and  pleas- 
ing in  color,  and  gives  a  true  impression  of  his  pure  and  delicate 
youthful  beauty. 

A  drawing  of  his  own  represents  him  at  a  little  later  period, 
but  before  he  wore  the  full  beard. 

Mr.  Gray  painted  a  portrait  for  the  Academy,  of  which  I  have 
spoken  elsewhere. 

Mr.  Healey  painted  a  portrait  in  the  winter  of  1853. 

Mr.  Gould  modelled  a  small  bust  from  life,  and  afterwards  a 
larger  one  from  memory  ;  but  perhaps  his  most  striking  reminis- 
cence of  his  friend  is  in  his  noble  ideal  bas-relief  of  the  Ghost  in 
Hamlet. 

His  friend  Mr.  Kimberley  has  made  various  attempts  to  rep- 
resent him  fitly  both  in  sculpture,  on  canvas,  and  in  crayon, 
before  and  since  his  death. 

The  portrait  of  which  I  have  the  pleasure  of  giving  a  carbon 
photograph  in  this  memoir,  was  drawn  by  him  during  the  past 
winter,  from  a  small  daguerrotype  taken  about  the  time  of  his 
second  marriage,  in  1853.  The  loving  interest  he  has  felt  in  this 
work,  and  the  unwearied  care  he  has  bestowed  upon  it,  have 
been  rewarded  with  success,  for  this  may  truly  be  pronounced 
to  be  the  most  faithful  portrait  of  Mr.  Cheney  existing,  both  in 
feature  and  expression. 


144 


MEMOIK  OF  SETH  W.  CHENEY. 


The  vignette  on  the  title-page  represents  the  old  homestead 
in  which  he  was  born,  —  not  as  it  was  then,  but  as  it  was  at  the 
time  of  his  death,  it  not  having  been  altered  since  then  in  any- 
important  respect. 

The  carbon  photographs  are  from  two  of  his  original  drawings, 
—  the  first  the  Maria  or  Eoman  Girl,  and  the  second  the  Eosalie. 
After  repeated  trials  this  process  gave  the  best  reproduction  of 
the  beauty  of  the  originals. 

The  heliotype,  number  one,  is  from  a  drawing  of  an  old  man 
in  Eome ;  and  number  two  is  from  the  portrait  of  Miss  Ednah 
D.  Smith,  drawn  at  Dublin,  K  H.,  in  1851. 

The  original  color  of  the  paper  on  which  his  drawings  were 
made  was  often  unfavorable  to  photography,  and  this  difficulty 
has  been  increased  by  the  effect  of  time  in  making  the  tints  un- 
equal, yet  I  think  all  will  feel  gratified  at  so  great  a  measure  of 
success  as  has  been  secured  by  the  care  and  skill  of  those  who 
have  had  charge  of  these  illustrations. 

Jamaica  Plain,  April  5,  1881. 


